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Chapter i. 














A Dark Record i 

Where I was bom — My earliest Masters — 
First appearance as the Gipsy Boy in "Guy Man- 
nering" — The Grecian Theatre — Experience of 

Drury-Lane under Macready's management ... 14 

An Astral Double 22 

My debut as Edgardo in "Lucia di Lammermoor" 

in Italy 32 

The Bishop's Daughter 36 

La Scala 51 

How I sang in an English Version of "Lucia di 

Lammermoor" at Drury-Lane 60 

A Railway Tragedy 7o ' 

My first appearance in Oratorio 80 

A political Vivien §5 

My singing as Carlo in "Linda di Chamouni" at 

Her Majesty's 99 

"Mephisto": Behind the Scenes lOi 

Willard O'Neill no 

Norah Leslie "7 

Catherine Hayes: a Dublin Episode 125 

A Star of Bethlehem 138 

Mount Sorrow 149 



Chapter i8. My Engagement at Covent Gnvden in Italian Opera i6i 

,. 19. The Ring 166 

20. Again I sing at Her Majesty's 175 

21. The Forgery 179 

22. With my wife I appeared in a series of operatic 
performances 190 

23 Darkshore Castle [91 

24. My engagement at the Theatre des Italiens — Paris — 201 

25. Madlle. Britani 206 

26. I sing "Eli", "Naaman" and ,,Robui Hood" — Death 
of my father — Crystal Palace Festival — "Faust" <!vc. 213 

27. The Shipwreck 234 

28. I determined to resist the abnormal pitch and de- 
clined singing at the Handel Festival — My ap- 
pearance at Covent Garden in the "Beggar's opera" 
and the "Waterman" — Signor Mario — Why tenors 
are so well paid — General resume 242 




iC? ^tlii^^oi'^ is a place of little impor- 
;r^V tance, lying in the sylvan county 
of Kildare. 

Not many years ago, there stood, on 
the summit of a hill, rising to the west 
of the town, the ruins of a handsome and 
spacious mansion, surrounded by a tan- 
gled wilderness, that had once been ter- 
raced gardens and plantations of large 
extent. The demesne in former times 
belonged to a family named Rolliston, 
and the ruined house, majestic in decay, 
seemed as though some weird spell brood- 
ed over it: — 

"For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said as plain as vvhisi^cr to the ear:" 
"The place is haunted." 


Neglect and desolation lay like a pall 
upon the shattered roof, damp mouldered 
walls, and rotting casements: no sound of 
human life broke the dreary silence: and 
after night had fallen, dire indeed was 
the necessity that induced dwellers in the 
neighbourhood to venture past the great 
entrance gates, now rusting and falling 
from their hinges. 

Yet, Rathmore House had once been 
the happy home of a family of old des- 
cent, and in the time of Mr. Charles Rol- 
liston, its last possessor, though, owing 
to its owner's fallen fortunes, it was be- 
ginning to show signs of dilapidation: it 
was still the habitation of domestic peace. 

This was the case one Christmas Eve, 
some forty years ago, when Mr. Rolliston 
was awakened from a quiet after dinner 
nap by the tones of a conversation bet- 
ween his wife and her nurse-maid. 

He was an elderly man, of delicate 
constitution, who had lately returned to 
his paternal acres after a long sojourn 
in the West Indies. Marrying late in life 
his family now consisted of his wife, a 


slight frail woman much younger than 
himself: a boy and girl, aged respectively 
eight and ten, and an infant in arms: 
the small establishment of servants was 
limited to cook, house-maid and nurse, 
also the lodge keeper and his wife, of 
whom more anon. 

"What are you talking about?" asked 
he of his helpmate as the nurse left the 
room. "Oh, I have given our three maids 
permission to attend a festive gathering in 
the town: they will be back by midnight 
and while they are absent, Tom Webb 
will sit up in the kitchen; Sarah has pro- 
mised to put the children to bed." 

"Humph," said Mr. Rolliston testily. 
"It's a great nuisance: you should not 
have allowed them all to go." 

"Well," said his wife. "It is only once 
a year and for to-night the children will 
sleep with us in our bedroom: they would 
not rest by themselves." 

"I suppose not," said Mr. Rolliston 
resignedly, then added, "I'll speak to 
Webb before bedtime: I have no great 
liking either for him or his wife." 


Tom Webb was the lodge keeper, pre- 
viously mentioned: he was an Englishman 
of a gloomy, saturnine disposition, and 
fond of drink, though not an habitual 
drunkard. He was an honest hardworking 
man but somewhat under the dominion 
of his wife, whom he had married soon 
after entering Mr. Rolliston's service. 

She was an Irishwoman, one Sarah 
Cumning, who did not bear the best of 
characters in the neighbourhood: tall and 
gaunt, with fierce black eyes, she had 
the strength and temper of a tigress, 
being given, especially when under the 
influence of liquor, to violent outbursts of 
fury: she was childless and as Tom Webb, 
gloomy and quiet, took little heed of her 
temper, they got on passably well together. 

It was ten o'clock on that memorable 
Christmas Eve: the family had retired to 
rest, and Tom Webb and his wife were 
in temporary occupation of the basement 
of Rathmore House: they had agreed to 
remain up, awaiting the return of the 
servants from the merry making, which, 
they expected, would be about midnight. 


Upon the kitchen table stood a bottle 
of whisky, mnch of which had already 
been consumed as punch by the night 
watchers, who sat at opposite sides of the 
table, close to the fire place. Tom Webb, 
more than ordinarily gloomy and abstract- 
ed, was smoking his pipe: his wife evi- 
dently under the influence of some rest- 
less emotion, and partially affected by the 
liquor she had already imbibed, sat sway- 
ing backward and forward on her chair. 

Some strong temptation seemed to 
impel her, as with fitful unsteady glances 
she alternately regarded her non observant 
spouse and the large bacon flitches hang- 
ing from the rafters: but his presence acted 
as a restraint upon her energies, while his 
saturnine abstraction became maddening. 

"I'll have some more whisky," she 
suddenly declared aloud, seizing the bottle 
and making for the kettle, which her 
husband did not condescend to lift; "you'll 
take another glass, Tom?" she said as 
with trembling hands she added a small 
quantity of boiling water to a large al- 
lowance of whisky. 

"I've not finished what I have here," 
he grunted in response. 

"Man alive, finish it, I want another 
glass myself." 

"Certainly," said he, emptying his glass, 
"if it will please you, brew another jorum." 

Replenishing his pipe, the lodge keeper 
again relapsed into the meditative mood, 
little heeding the fierce black eyes fixed 
upon him, as Sarah covertly poured another 
liberal quantity of whisky into her glass. 

Yielding to the fiery impulse coursing 
through her veins, Sarah muttered, "I'll 
take it, whether jon like it or not." 
"Don't," said her husband, with a half 
frightened, half stupid glance around him. 
"Bah," she retorted, "I'll have the bacon 
flitches any how." Restraint had de- 
parted, and Sarah Webb seemed an embo- 
diment of fiendish resolve: while a kind 
of stupor seemed to settle upon the lodge 
keeper's faculties. At length, finding he 
slept, with a knife she rapidly detached 
the flitches from their hooks, carried 
them out of the kitchen and hid them 
in the adjoining plantation. 


"By and bye we can easily get them 
to the lodge," said she to herself. Alas! 
how true is it, "the means to do ill deeds, 
makes ill deeds done," and Sarah forgot 
all now, save the desire to possess: sti- 
mulated by further potations of whisky, 
womanhood was dead within her. 

Yet she muttered, as a species of re- 
action seized her. "I have gone too far: 
the place is almost stripped, and 'tis not 
possible to bring the stuff back by my- 
self before the girls return and Tom's 
half drunk: what will I do? if we are 
caught, it will be the ruin of us." Another 
glass of whisky supplied the required sti- 
mulus, and the wretched creature felt 
tempted to yet darker deeds. 

"Yes," she resolved within herself, 
"we must get money. Tom hates the 
place, so do I: there will be no regret 
in going, and go we will; little did my 
lady mistress imagine, while I was put- 
ting the children to bed, what ni}' thoughts 
were. Oh! that box of jewels! poor de- 
vils like us couldn't own them by any 
honest means; no matter how she came 


by them. There they lie and they're 
easy to get; what a fortune they'd 
be to us! I'll get them some how," 
brmging her fist down savagely on the 
table, "I'll have them, whatever happens: 
so here goes," and she plied her mad- 
dened brain with yet more liquor. 

Strangely enough, her actions now 
seemed sober and methodical: bending 
over her somnolent spouse for a moment, 
she regarded his deep sleep with satisfac- 
tion; then noiselessly leaving the kitchen, 
she crept softly into the hall, where a lamp 
burned, casting dim shadows over the 
oaken wainscotting. 

The cold winter wind swept through 
the passages with a low wail of boding 
import: but she went forward on her 
evil quest. Stealthily ascending the broad 
oaken staircase, she reached the first 
landing place, which was illumined by a 
bay window, through which a flood of 
moonlight streamed, and for an instant 
she paused as though some unearthly 
apparition stood in her path, warning 
her to go back. However, Avith a de- 


fiant grip of the bannisters, she went 
upward till she reached the room where 
Mr. and Mrs. Rolliston and their children 
slept. The door was partly open, having 
been left thus, so that the nurse on her 
return might step in and take the baby 
without disturbing the other inmates: 
and tiger -like Sarah now crept into the 
room and surveyed the silent scene, while 
she speculated on her chance of obtaining 
the prize she sought. 

The chamber was dimly lit by a wax 
taper burning on the high chimney piece, 
and by the embers of a dying fire: in 
the centre stood the lofty antique bed- 
stead, whereon, locked in peaceful re- 
pose, lay Mr. and Mrs. Rolliston and 
their two elder children, while the infant 
slept in a cot by the bedside. 

But the wretched sinner creeping 
about the room was in no way moved 
by beholding the innocent sleepers; in 
her black heart was room for nought 
but evil, as she stealthily moved toward 
the iron bound box containing the jewels 


she coveted, and upon which her eyes 
had feasted so recently. 

To her dismay it was locked and she 
gazed upon it with rage and disappointed 
greed: to move it was physically impos- 
sible; yet, was she to be baffled with the 
prize within her grasp? 

Suddenly in the dim light of the ta- 
per, she caught sight of a table close 
to her master's head, whereon lay a 
handsome gold watch and appendages, 
also a well filled purse and above all a 
bunch of keys. 

Not for an instant did she waver: 
those keys must open the treasure, and 
with a cat-like spring she clutched them 
and then, emboldened by the silence, 
seized the purse and Avatch. But here 
cupidity mastered discretion, and the 
watch fell with a loud jingle from her 
nerveless hold: thereupon its owner start- 
ed and in a half dreaiuy manner raised 
his head: for a moment she was startled, 
but the tones of his enquiring voice rous- 
ed the devil within her: she threw her- 
self upon him and attempted to strangle 


liim! He was plij^sically far weaker than 
his assailant, infuriated as she was b}' 
drink and greed, but he struggled man- 
fully, although stifling under her weight 
and the coverlet forced into his mouth. 

At this juncture she noticed a sharp 
foreign dagger lying on the table: seizing 
it, she remorselessly buried it in her 
master's throat! 

Not unfrequently has it been said, 
that women when excited to deeds of 
wickedness, become worse than men: the 
boy, disturbed by his father's last struggle, 
awakened and starting up in the bed 
beginning to cry: instantly Sarah Webb 
plunged the dagger into his heart! The 
girl still slept quietly, but the poor mo- 
ther awakening and realising what had 
happened, screamed aloud for help. That 
cry was her last, for the maddened mur- 
deress stifled her with the pillow. While 
still holding her mistress down, Sarah Webb 
beheld the little girl awake, spring from 
the bed and rush wildly to the door, while 
her screams resounded through the house, 
till the murderess trembled with terror. 


Tom Webb, starting from his heavy 
sleep, hurried along the hall and up the 
stairs, where in the vivid moonlight May 
E-olliston confronted him, pale and shriek- 
ing and in sheer fright sprang for pro- 
tection into his arms: he rushed forward 
into the chamber, and what a sight met 
his eyes! 

Mr. and Mrs. Rolliston and their little 
son, lay dead before him, while the poor 
baby was breathing its last breath in the 
grasp of her who had just destroyed it. 

May Rolliston clung to Tom Webb, 
weeping pitifully. "So," growled his wife, 
"you come when the trouble of getting 
the money is over?" 

"My God, Sarah," cried he, "what 
dreadful act is this." "Dreadful act you 
call it, do you," cried the female fiend, 
"I call it business, and I'll finish it. Let 
go that girl." 

"Would you kill her too: no, you 
shall not!" 

"Idiot," screamed the tigress, "are we 
to let her live and be hanged ourselves? 
Let her go!" 


"You shall not harm a hair of the 
child's head," he cried vehemently. 

"I will kill her," Sarah yelled, "and 
you too, if you come in my way." 

"And I tell you, I'll die before I let 
you touch her, you murderess," shouted 
Tom, and retreating a pace with the girl 
placed for safety behind him, he fiercely 
regarded her, exclaiming: 

"By heaven, move another step and 
I'll send you after your victims." 

She sprang forward and made a grasp 
at the girl; but the lodge keeper collect- 
ing all his strength struck his wicked 
wife full upon the forehead: she reeled 
under the crashing blow and fell with 
a heavy thud against the fender. 

Just then the returning domestics 
rushed into the room, to see before them 
four dead bodies, the cruel murderess 
senseless and her husband still supporting 
the insensible form of the last of the 




iT/g coking back over a vista of nearly 
^^ 50 years, what strange vicissitudes 
may we not recall? The lights and shades 
of life; its alternate joy and sadness. Es- 
pecially is this so upon the stage, where 
wear and tear, mental and physical, is 
deep and sustained. 

The foregoing chapter relates an in- 
cident, which happened at the outset of 
my professional career: the story is, alas! 
too true, and well do I recall the univer- 
sal horror evoked by the terrible deed. 

Not long ago I met the only survivor 
of that sanguinary night, now a happy 

mother with a devoted husband and not 
a few olive branches. 

Of the culprit Sarah Webb, it may 
be briefly stated, that she was executed. 
Her husband was acquitted, and I after- 
wards discovered him in a theatre, where 
he obtained occasional employment. 

To the last he declaimed against the 
justice of the sentence, vehemently hold- 
ing that both were equally to blame and 
should have been hanged together, 

I will now proceed to deal with the 
practical details of my life: occasionally 
pausing to draw aside the curtain which 
shrouds some strange experiences I have 

I do not write with regard to chro- 
nological order or ambitious excellence; 
indeed my only hope is to enlist the 
readers sympathy by freely reciting a few 
circumstances in the wayward career of 
a singer. 

I was born October 21, 1821 at Shoo- 
ters Hill, in Kent. My father was a 
musician and it was said that at an early 
age I used my voice with no little skill. 


When fourteen years old I performed 
the duties of organist at North Cray 
Church, where I likewise had charge of 
the local choir. 

"Doctors differ" it is said; so too do 
singing masters. 

The professor under whom I studied, 
treated me as a baritone; yes and as a 
baritone I cam.e upon the stage and suc- 

While studying harmony and counter- 
point under Mr. H. Calcott I practised the 
piano with John Cramer. 

I also learned to play more than one 
musical instrument, including the violin, 
violoncello, oboe and bassoon; in fact so 
proficient did I become as a violinist, 
that at the beginning of my career I 
not seldom undertook the duties of or- 
chestral leader. 

In 1839, being then in my eighteenth 
year, I made my debut at the New- 
castle-on-Tyne theatre, as the Gipsy B05' 
in "Guy Mannering," for the benefit of 
the late tenor George Barker. 

This was followed by my apijearance 


as Count Rodolfo, the travelling nobleman 
in "La SoniDambula." Some years after- 
wards I earned enthusiastic applause for 
singing and acting the tenor part in this 
same delightful pastoral of Bellini's. 

There have been instances of singers 
coming out as tenors and finding after- 
wards that they had baritone voices: 
Labia die, for example, is said to have 
played the part of Count Almaviva in 
the "Barber of Seville" before relinquish- 
ing it for that of Figaro — which he in 
turn gave up for that of Dr. Bartolo, 
thus descending from tenor to baritone, 
from baritone to bass. 

But other than myself I am not aware 
of a vocalist commencing as a baritone, 
then rising to the rank of tenor, and 
holding a foremost position as such for 
upwards of forty years. 

Subsequent to my engagement at 
Newcastle I sang at the Grecian The- 
atre under the nom de theatre of "Mr. 

I likewise underwent a course of 
training at the hands of Mr. Hobbs and 

Mr. I. Cook as a tenor — and appear- 
ed at Druiy-Lane, then under the di- 
rection of Macready. 

Tlie management of Macready at 
this theatre fills a page of histrionic art, 
so excellent were his productions both mu- 
sical and dramatic: to be engaged there 
was an honour; no matter in what capa- 
city, and being offered the post of second 
tenor, I gladly accepted it and such parts 
as Ottocar in ,,Der Freischutz" devolved 
upon me, and on many occasions it fell 
to my lot to sing "Come if you dare!" 

Pur cell's "King Arthur," dating from 
the year 1691, contains some admirable 
pieces of music; however the war-song 
of the Britons "Come if you dare!" has 
survived the rest of the work. 

"There is," says Dr. Burney, "a latent 
power and force in his (Pur cell's) ex- 
pression of English w^ords, whatever be 
the subject, that will make an unpreju- 
diced native of this island feel more than 
all the elegance, grace, and refinement 
of modern music, less happily applied, 
can do; and this pleasure is communi- 


cated to us, not by the symmetry or 
rhythm of modern melody, but by his 
having tuned to the true accents of his 
mother tongue those notes of passion, 
which an inabitant of this island would 
breathe in such situations as the words 
describe. And these indigenous expres- 
sions of passion Purcell had the power 
to enforce by the energy of modulation, 
which on some occasions was bold, affect- 
ing, and sublime. Handel," he adds, 
"who flourished in a less barbarous age 
for his art, has been acknowledged Pur- 
cell's superior in many particulars; but 
in none more than the art and grandeur 
of his choruses, the harmony and texture 
of his organ fugues, as well as his great 
style of concertos; the ingenuity of his 
accompaniments to his songs and chor- 
uses; and even in the general melody of 
the airs themselves; yet in the accent, 
passion, and expression of English words, 
the vocal music of Purcell is, sometimes, 
to my feelings, as superior to Handel's 
as an original poem to a translation." 
That Purcell's famous war-song prov- 

ed a success, goes witliout saying; yet I 
was by no means allowed to have my 
own way in rendering it. 

Macready was a fine actor and not 
only a good manager in the business sense 
of the words, but also as a director of 
knowledge and taste. However, he insisted 
on having "Come if you dare" addressed 
to enemies in the rear of the stage, thus 
compelling me to turn my back to the 
audience. — Vain were my expostulations; 
Mr. Macready was inexorable. — 

Manifestly to defy the foe, while at 
the same time shouting that defiance in 
an opposite direction would seem ludi- 
crous; so I hit upon a compromise as 
follows: standing sideways and alternately 
looking towards the audience and the 
savage host, whom I dared to approach, 
I nevertheless sang the song to the former. 

The result of my efforts to recon- 
cile two conflicting situations, was instant 

But Macready failing to find an ade- 
quate substitute, gladly reengaged me; 
however, the imperious manager insisted 


on payment of a fine, which he fixed 
at five pounds. 

While playing the part of First War- 
rior at Drury-Lane, an incident took place, 
which happily influenced my whole life. 

An enthusiastic lover of music had 
heard the performance and afterwards 
speaking thereupon to a young student of 
musical art said: "Miss Lucombe, come 
and hear a new tenor, who is destined 
to be a great artiste." 

This lady afterwards became my wife. 

During my engagement at Drury-Lane, 
extending over two seasons, the occurrence, 
related in the following chapter, happened. 




"T^T'ellington Manning, M. A., was one 
XS^' of those literary offshoots, who 
haunt, lilve unquiet ghosts, the neighbour- 
hood of Fleet-St., or else seek refuge in 
the great reading-room of the British 
Museum, finding there that warmth and 
comfort, which they seek in vain elsewhere. 
In his youth he was destined for the 
Church, but coming unexpectedly into 
possession of considerable property, he 
gave up his career and sought the fa- 
shionable world. Of a soft, impressionable 
nature, he easily became the prey of un- 
scrupulous adventurers, and acquiring a 
taste for gambling, and all kinds of dis- 

sipation, his large fortune was quickly 
dissipated and he sunk into direst poverty. 

However, unlike the coarser type ol 
Bohemian, who delights in low associates, 
Wellington Manning, M. A., never consort- 
ed with pronounced imbibers or sporting 
characters, but sought those of fallen re- 
putation and aristocratic lineage, whose 
abasement was the more real by reason 
of their obstinate self-esteem. 

His tall, slender person was always 
encased in a shabby frock coat, whose 
whitened seams and shining surface be- 
spoke the poverty of its wearer; and he 
was never apparently, in possession of 
more than one glove at a time. "Sub 
editing" was his invariable reply to all 
inquiries regarding his means of ex- 

"Knowing ones" winked aside when 
they heard this, for truth to tell, his fa- 
vourite haunt was the "Bells," Mitre Court, 
where kindred spirits, Avho had wasted 
alike their life and intellect, aspersed so- 
ciety in general, and successful literary 
men in particular. 


Wellington Manning had essayed wri- 
ting a serial story, beside many light ef- 
fusions both in poetry and prose, but un- 
feeling publishers, with an eye to business, 
demanded brain work of the common- 
place and practical kind rather, than those 
imaginative flights, which lead to fame 
both present and future. 

This was the bete noir of the once 
distinguished poet and scholar; mind and 
body alike failed, and at last the end 
came and he died. 

Application to his few remaining 
friends yielded barely sufficient where- 
with to pay funeral expenses and buy 
enough ground in God's acre, to save him 
the degradation of pauper sepulture; a 
gentle wife and pale-faced boy survived 
him, their only inheritance poverty and 

Woeful were the years that passed 
for Mrs. Welligton Manning and her 
son. Hers was the burden of ceaseless 
strife for bread, but by wearisome toil 
as a daily governess, she contrived to 
maintain herself and child. Alas! is it 


not the most humiliating of all trials to 
live amongst the purse-proud and vulgar, 
who seek by every means to wound 
the sensitive spirits they cannot compre- 
hend; and this seems to be peculiarly the 
case of gentlewomen compelled to be- 
come governesses. 

Wellington Manning junior grew up 
unusually tall, and proportionately weak. 
"Nothing organically wrong," was the 
doctor's dictum, "good food and warm 
clothing is all he requires." 

The advice soanded somewhat cyni- 
cal; but about this time Wellington ob- 
tained a situation in a City-house which 
paid him a fairly good salary; true, the 
long hours of confinement were very try- 
ing to him; but as the old saw has it: 
"Beggars cannot be choosers." 

It was at this period that I first 
heard of the widow and her son; 
moreover, that the latter possessed an 
uncommonly fine baritone voice. His 
mother, he said, had taught him all he 
knew, and now she was growing blind. 
I became acquainted with young Man- 

ning and found the reports, I had heard 
of his fine voice, had not been exaggerat- 
ed, and I felt certain that a brilhant fu- 
ture on the operatic stage awaited him. 

He would never accept an offer of 
pecuniary assistance, no matter how de- 
licately made, and seldom 'alluded to 
home circumstances; indeed he was na- 
turally reserved and, unless addressed, 

Whenever I spoke to him of his fu- 
ture career and the certainty of his be- 
coming famous, an expression stole over 
his face that seemed to deepen its na- 
tural gravity, while almost solemnly he 
said: "I may come within reach of such 
a position, yet it will never be mine." 

"Why?" I asked. 

"Because my death will prevent it." 

"Your death!" 

"Yes, I shall still persevere, but as 
soon as I touch the point of success, I 
shall die suddenly." 

This became a fixed conviction, from 
which no arguments could wean him; and 
I watched his progress with growing 


concern; he improved greatly both vo- 
cally and pln^sically, but the presentnnent 
of an untimely death never left him. 

Once I asked him to tell me the ori- 
gin of this morbid idea, but he had no 
better reason for his strange belief, than 
an unusual coincidence that had happen- 
ed on the death of his father and grand- 
father; though years had elapsed between 
those events, the date and hour were 
precisely similar, viz, the first of March 
at seven in the evening. 

"Merely a coincidence," I said, when 
he replied: "True, but it has happened 
to all elder sons in my father's family, 
without exception, for generations." "That 
is, indeed, singular," I admitted, "but jow 
have not yet attained to half your father's 
age, therefore dismiss the gloomy anti- 

Wellington Manning's voice had been 
listened to by more than one manager, 
who sought to engage him for light 
opera; hearkening to my advice however, 
he declined these tempting offers and 
resolutely followed my musical instruc- 


fcions; and at length I looked for an eli- 
gible opportunity of bringing him out, 
so that he might begin to earn a fair 
living on the lyric stage, while working 
on to vocal perfection in private. 

And so it came about that I secured 
Wellington Manning's first engagement 
at Drury-Lane, that grand old temple 
of the Drama, with its imperishable me- 
mories and world renowned examples of 
vocal and histrionic greatness. 

The opera selected was "L'Elisir 
d'Amore," wherein Manning was to sing 
the part of Belcore, and I that of Ne- 
morino; the pantomime had an unusually 
lengthy run that year, up to the end 
of February; indeed so successful was it, 
that the manager suggested postponing 
the opera. 

However the expense of keeping so 
many vocalists unemployed, while under 
engagement, decided the point and the 
pantomime finished its career, probably 
to the regret of the lighter minded section 
of the public. 

Our rehearsals likewise came to an 

end: L'Elisir d'Amore was read}^ lackino; 
nothing in vocal strength and musical 

Wellington Manning temporarily re- 
linquished his appointment in the City 
with the consent of his kind employer. 
If vocally successful he returned no more, 
if not, he would be very welcome to his 
office desk, with its accompaniments of 
long hours, fetid atmosphere and relative 

Shaking his hand warmly and bidding 
him come down early that opening night, 
I parted with him at the stage door after 
our final rehearsal. 

Five hours later I drove across West- 
minster-Bridge on my way to Drury- 
Lane. It w^as a wretchedly cold evening. 
March had come in with our proverbial 
east wind, which held everyone and ev- 
erything in its chilliug grip, and vainly 
did closely muffled pedestrians struggle 
against its inroads. 

My carriage was bowling at a good 
pace dowii Parliament -Street, when the 
friend who was with me, touching my 


arm, said "There goes Wellington Man- 
ning." I looked in the direction indicated 
and there before us, closely wrapped up 
and walking quickly, I saw our young 

As I was lowering the window, to ask 
Manning if he would accept a lift to the 
theatre, the abbey clock with seven so- 
lemn strokes added another hour to the 
changeless past. I just looked at my 
watch, to time it and opened the car- 
riage door. 

But nowhere could we see Manning; 
this was the more strange, as at that parti- 
cular place there was no entrance or 
narrow way, into which he could have 
disappeared. Turning to the coachman 
I said: "Did you see Mr. Manning?" 

"Yes, sir, but he went all in a second, 
directly I saw him, and I don't know 
where he got to." 

The pitiless wind caused me to close 
the door abruptly, forgetting all but the 
intense cold, which would not be for- 

Some little thing or another is always 

wanted on a first night, and having made 
two or three halts to repair tliese omis- 
sions, we arrived at the stage entrance 
of Old Drury. 

"Send for the understndy, Lvicraft, at 
once," the manager was saying as I enter- 
ed, and passing through the narrow hall, 
he met me and said "Poor Manning has 
just died suddenly." 

"What," I cried horror-stricken, "Man- 
ning dead!" "Yes, he died at home half 
an hour ago." 

"Exactly at seven o'clock. Sir," said 
the messenger, who had brought the sad 
news. "I heard the clock in the St. 
John's wood barracks strike, just as he 

And I suddenly recollected, that this 
was the first day of March! 




njln 1843 I went to Paris to take lessons 
(^ from a very distinguished master liv- 
ing at that time who is still well known by 
a published "method" and by his exercises 
for the voice; I mean Signor Bordogni. 

From Paris I proceeded to Milan, 
where I studied for some time under 
Signor Mazzucato. 

Here my voice, expression, and style, 
were so much appreciated, that I was as- 
ked to appear at the theatre of La Scala, 
the most celebrated Opera-house in Italy. 

The part I chose for my debut was that 
of Edgar do in "Lucia di Lammermoor." 

In that famous part, composed for 
Duprez, and which Duprez and the still 


greater Rubini had both performed with 
striking success, I may fairly claim to 
have been applauded to the echo. 

Thus though proud to be called an Eng- 
lish singer, it ought not to be forgotten 
that my first operatic triumph was gained 
in Italian Opera, in the presence of an 
Italian audience at the first lyrical the- 
atre in Italy. The evening on which I 
made my first appearance at the Scala 
theatre, I was visited in my dressing-room 
by the distinguished tenor, Avho had so 
often sung the part in which I had just 
achieved such signal success, and who 
during his engagement at the Scala had 
occupied the same apartment, as that 
placed at my disposal. 

Rubini warmly complimented me on 
my vocal and histrionic attainments. 
"Lucia di Lammermoor," Donizetti's most 
admired opera, containing some of the 
most beautiful melodies, in the sentimental 
style, that he has composed, and alto- 
gether his best finale, had been produced 
ten years before at Naples, with Duprez 
in the part of Edgardo, and Madame 


Persian! in that of Lucia and its popu- 
larity was just then at its height. Of 
late years the Italian operatic stage has 
not boasted one tenor, who has been able 
to produce, in the important part of Ed- 
gardo, such effect as seemed to proceed 
naturally from the singing of the eminent 
vocalists, who made their mark in the part 
during the first dozen years of the opera's 
existence. The public at that time used 
to wait anxiously for the grand scena 
with which the opera terminates, and 
which was generally regarded as the most 
interesting and most exciting portion of 
the work. This scena is, in fact, a great 
dram.atic scene, in which the singer has 
not simply to deliver so many bars of 
recitative, leading to a conventional an- 
dante or adagio, which will in its turn 
be followed by the inevitable cabaletta. 
The scene is, in a picturesque sense, 
highly impressive; and the moonlit ce- 
metery in which the formerly love-stricken, 
then indignant and enraged, now des- 
pondent and broken-hearted Edgardo has 
come to meditate and die, prepares the 

audience for the melodious "Swan Song," 
so appropriately introduced by the solemn, 
plaintive strains for the four horns. 

Edgardo has to utter no mere soliloquy 
in so many divisions. The scena, as be- 
fore observed, is highly dramatic; and 
particularly fine is the effect produced by 
the sudden arrival of the chorus, which, 
interrogated by the desperate man, tells 
him in a placid melody, strongly con- 
trasting with his passionate exclamations, 
that Lucia is no more and thus precipi- 
tates his end. Duprez, Rubini, Moriani, 
were admirable in this scene, but in the 
ordinary way the glory of this part, for- 
merly so much admired, would seem to 
have passed away: a result, due partly, 
no doubt, to the striking success achieved 
by a series of very charming Lucias: 
Madame Adelina Patti, Madame Albani, 
and Madame Christine Nilsson; but also 
and above all, to the difficulty of finding 
an adequate representative of Edgardo. 

This recalls an episode which I will 
relate in the following Chapter. 





^j^uring a long course of provincial 
d^T; tours I came to the conclusion, 
many years since, that cathedral towns 
are the most dull and lifeless places on 
the face of the earth, and the air of 
quasi gentility, which is assumed by the 
better class of inhabitants, together with 
their tea parties and the scandal talked 
thereat, grows very wearisome to men 
of the world. Particularly "pharisaical" 
too is their observance of the Sunday, 
when each "fashionable" dame seeks to 
excel her neighbours in the gorgeousness 
of her Sabbath raiment; but I fear there 
is more worldly jealousy than religious 


fervour in the bosoms of these edifying 

Rochester proved no exception to this 
rule, and its belligerent bishop was des- 
potic both in his sacerdotal and private 
character, tolerating no laxity or indif- 
ference towards either himself or his high 

His Christianity was of the muscular 
type, obstinate and aggressive; and his 
opponents declared that Dr. Winthrop had 
been made bishop of Rochester in order 
if possible to silence his bellicose outpour- 
ings, oral and literary, directed against 
certain weaknesses of "the powers that be." 

Mrs. Winthrop was a puny, frail wo- 
man possessing neither will or indivi- 
duality; in the days when he was but 
a struggling cleric, he had scarcely deign- 
ed to consult her wishes even on house- 
hold affairs; and when he reached epis- 
copal rank, no more was this meek wife 
accounted as of importance in his social 
or domestic relations: but he loved their 
only daughter with an affection surprising 
in one of so uncongenial a nature. 


She was a bright fair-haired girl just 
blossoming into womanhood, and his 
lordship of Rochester thought nothing too 
precious or good for his cherished child. 

Dr. Winthrop was fond of music: so 
was his daughter, and to hear her lovely 
voice in the cathedral choir made the 
proud prelate thrill with emotion: Con- 
stance and her musical talent touched 
the only weak spot in the bishop's nature; 
and under his regime the arts of music 
and singing were a prominent feature in 
Rochester society. 

The most difficult works of the great 
masters were frequently performed, and 
the fact, that Dr. Winthrop both aided 
in and patronised their production, bespoke 
a certainty of success. 

The leading tenor parts were sung 
by Henry Sherstone, a good looking young- 
fellow, about 20 years old, who was a 
"teller" in the principal bank of the cit}^; 
and possessed a singularly sweet and 
powerful voice. 

Many an invitation to private concerts 
and musical parties was refused by young 


Sherstone, and people called him self- 
conceited in consequence; particularly, 
as it was known, he attended all gather- 
ings at the episcopal palace: though when 
questioned as to the cause of his absence 
from other entertainments, he generally 
sought refuge in the excuse of not feel- 
ing well. 

This statement did not meet with much 
credence, and, as I have said, the young 
bank clerk was cited as a sad example 
of vanity and self-esteem; Avhen, however, 
he did consent to sing, all was forgotten 
and forgiven in the pleasure of listening 
to his powerful and sympathetic voice. 

The real cause of Henry Sherstone' s 
refusal of the courtesies extended to him 
was simply bashfulness; instead of being 
vain he was retiring and shy, possessing 
little confidence in himself, and it requir- 
ed a great effort on his part to screw 
up his moral courage to the point of 
appearing in society. 

This weakness he scarcely ever con- 
fessed; but Constance Winthrop had seen 
through and understood his nature, li- 


king him the better for what her father 
styled his "humihty," though whenever 
the young clerk happened to meet the 
bishop's daughter, he only lifted his hat, 
and quickly turned away; and in the 
choir he remained apart from her, unless 
their musical duties brought them to- 

He was advised to study vocal music 
under a first rate maestro; and this he 
did as far as his duties in the bank would 
permit him. 

Here I should like to make a short 
digression, and comment on the great 
evils arising from the pretensions of mu- 
sical quacks, who offer to teach singing, 
without possessing one of the necessary 
qualifications; indeed, I could count the 
really clever professors of singing on my 
fingers ! 

A carpenter, housepainter, or any 
other mechanic has to serve an appren- 
ticeship in order to learn his craft; but 
all that the charlatan "professor" of sing- 
ing requires, is a brass door plate, and 
an unlimited amount of "cheek". 

Many a voice, which was naturally 
sweet and sympathetic, has been irre- 
parably ruined by this system; yes, and 
I regret to say, the monstrous evil is 
growing, by reason of advertisements, 
which offer unwary musical aspirants 
lessons at a rate less than is paid for 
the most ordinary kind of mechanical 

With teachers professing to hold "Con- 
servatoire" diplomes and to be able to 
teach proper production of voice and 
phrasing, within a given time at a less 
price than vermin - powder costs, good 
singers ought to be plentiful, but unfor- 
tunately the reverse holds good: we have 
few eminent vocalists, and unquestionably 
it is not for lack of good voices. 

There came under my notice once 
the case of a certain Johnny Ryan, an 
adventurer from the sister isle, who set 
up an academy where he professed to 
teach singing on a system, that would, as 
he expressed it, "make you sing whether 
you liked or no." 

This example of shining talent Italian- 


ised his name on a spacious door plate 
as follows: 

"Signor Eiani, Professor of Music, 
Singing-, Elocution, Declamation, &c. &c." 

The aspirant for vocal honours, who 
had the misfortune to fall into the "Sig- 
nor' s" hands, having given him a spe- 
cimen of his or her talent, the "maestro" 
would say with professional gravity, if 
his intending pupil was a female: 

Oh, shure my dear, j^our voice is a 
wonder intoirely: and I'll soon tache ye 
to sing "Batti, batti" in a way that '11 
shame Patti! 

To male would-be-singers, his advice 
ran thus: "If you don't mind, you'll 
destroy your chest, and get into a gallop- 
ing consumption. See, now; deepen your 
epiglottis, lift the valempalatum, distend 
your nostrils, and by the darned stock- 
ings of Moses you'll bate Signor Sims 
Reeves or Mr. Mayrio." 

Whenever a simpleton paid the "Sig- 
nor" (in advance of course) he called to 
his son saying: "Giovanni, bring in the 


blunderbuss." This was a black whisky 
bottle, which he frequentty charged; in 
fact as he put it colloquiall}^: "'twas the 
making of his voice and reputation." 

However, Henry Sherstone fortunately 
escaped pirates of this description, and in 
his limited leisure -time studied diligently 
under a clever and painstaking professor, 
and his fame as a singer soon extended 
beyond local circles. 

He began, now, to acquire that con- 
fidence in himself which had previousl)^ 
been wanting; that nervous self-reliance 
which marks every man, who knows he 
can be "equal to the occasion." 

Dr. Winthrop was anything but pleas- 
ed at the young bank -clerk's advance 
in lyric fame; as long as his fine tenor 
voice was at the bishop's disposal, to be 
used for the purpose of adding to his 
lordship's honour and glorj^, well and 
good; but anything outside this, he de- 
clined to tolerate. 

So it came to pass that j^oung Sher- 
stone' s magnificent voice was seldom 


heard in the Cathedral or at the Palace, 
and the Bishop would remark to his 
friends with pompous solemnity: 

"I have grave doubts of that young 
man Sherstone, I fear he is drifting into 
evil courses." 

And presently a new tenor filled the 
place of the bank -teller in those musical 
performances patronised by the Bishop. 
He was a young man whose indifferent 
voice and overweening self-conceit made 
him the very opposite of Henry Sherstone ; 
but he was destined for the church and 
was therefore especially welcome to Dr. 

Constance Winthrop thought often 
and sadly of Henry Sherstone and his 
exquisite voice, and many a night did 
she dream of the duets they used to sing 
together; waking to regret that she might 
hear those notes no more. 

Of late when she had met Henry, 
she noticed that he seemed more master 
of himself than in former times; passing 
her with a courteous raising of his hat, 


yet with an erect self-possession which 
had previously been wanting. 

It happened one morning towards the 
end of summer, that Henry Sherstone, 
feeling tired and overworked, sought a 
few hours leave of absence, and obtain- 
ing a brief respite from work, went for 
a short ramble into the country. Kent, 
England's finest county, was looking its 
very best, the hops were glorious in their 
wealth of blossoms, the Medway lay calm 
in the noonday sun; and the great Ca- 
thedral's majestic proportions dwarfed 
all that lay within its shadow. 

Listlessly wandering, Henry found at 
length a shaded nook, where, casting him- 
self down upon the verdant sward, he 
sought repose in the pleasures of thought 
and memory. 

At length taking the M. S. of a new 
song from his pocket, he commenced 
singing the opening lines to himself in 
a low tone. 

"Mr. Sherstone," said Dr. Winthrop's 
daughter, suddenly advancing from the 


shade of some neighbouring trees, "Your 
voice has attracted me hither; how greatly 
it has improved." 

"Miss Winthrop," he exclaimed un- 
covering and rising hastily, "this is indeed 
an unexpected honour." 

"Honour, Mr. Sherstone!" 

"Yes, you are Dr. Winthrop' s daughter." 
"And you, Mr. Sherstone, are possessed 
of most uncommon gifts." 

"To be a wretched bank -clerk, is 
indeed an uncommon gift," he echoed 
with a depth of melancholy satire that 
went to her heart. 

"But, she said, there is a bright fu- 
ture opening before you, I am certain 
you will make a name." 

"What's in a name," he replied, bit- 
terly. "My father won a name in the 
service of his country; and I, the son of 
Colonel Sherstone, dead three years ago, 
am left a drudge in a public bank." 

"You never thought enough of youi*- 
self," she observed soothingly. 

"Ah! Miss Winthrop! it is because I 


have thought so much of myself, that I 
feel so unhappy, but I am soon going away, 
where I shall try to forget. — "What? 
she interrupted," you are going away? 
"Yes, I shall soon leave this place never 
to return, unless relieved from this load 
of insupportable misery." 

"0, don't go," escaped involuntarily 
from her lips; then she looked on the 
ground, blushing painfully. He grew very 
pale, but continued: 

"Miss "Winthrop, I am going abroad 
this month; I believe in what you say, 
that I shall make a name; but never can 
I forget what I have gone through;" he 
paused; but she remained silent, and he 

"I am not of those who cease to re- 
member; and I can never forget your 
kind notice of me in the past. The world 
esteemed me frivolous and vain: I was 
not so, but I shrank into myself because 
of my position; this period of my life will 
soon come to an end. While others 
slighted, you alone. Miss Winthrop, seem- 
ed to pity and understand me, and I 


thank you for your gracious toleration 
of the poor bank- clerk." 

"Mr. Sherstone, 3^ou wrong me by 
using the word toleration: I have a true 
esteem for you." 

"Miss Winthrop," he said earnestly, 
"do not speak so kindly to me; I fear, 
lest I forget that you are." — "What I 
ever shall be," she said hastily, "your 
sincere friend." 

"Oh forgive me, he cried suddenly 
but it is you — you, who are the cause 
of my misery." 

"I," she echoed in surprise, "why am 
I the cause?" "Because I have dared 
to love you," he answered, "but forgive 
my temerity and presumption: it is all 
I ask, "forgive me." 

"What is this I hear, unhallowed 
scoundrel," thundered the bishop's voice, 
as striding suddenly forward he stood be- 
tween them. "Away with you, presump- 
tuous rascal, before I punish your imper- 
tinence as it deserves." 

"Oh father, father!" she entreated do 

not speak so; do not be angry, remember 
he and I have known each other almost 
from childhood! 

Henry Sherstone stood proudly erect 
and looked the Bishop full in the eyes. 
"Of course, my lord," he said firmly, "you 
consider me deserving of your wrath; but, 
recollect, I am a gentleman's son." 

"How dare you bandy words with me, 
Sir," roared the enraged prelate, "but I 
shall not condescend to argue with you; 
fortunately for you, you are leaving the 
place, had it been otherwise, you should 
have been turned away." 

"It is ungenerous of your lordship thus 
to assail my weakness," said Henry Sher- 
stone sadly, "yet, never mind; farewell, 
Miss Winthrop," and raising his hat the 
bank clerk walked onwards. 

But he cast an agonized backward 
glance at the girl, which nerved her to 
desperation, and springing after him ere 
her father could detain her, she caught 
his hand, and looking earnestly into his 
face said: 

"Henry, wherever you may go, al- 
ways remember Constance Winthrop." 

"Great Heavens" — shouted the 
Bishop. — "Yes, father, before he leaves 
this for ever, I tell you, I love Henry 




nTL had been singing in the French ca- 
(^ pital, and from there, passed on to 
the scene of some of my earhest successes: 
La Scala. Milan, which was then occupied 
by a kind of "scratch" company, foremost 
among whom was a countryman of my 
own, known as Signor Certoni, who had 
lately gained fame on the Italian stage. 

I was more than pleased to learn this 
of one in whom I took great personal inter- 
est, and for whom on several occasions I 
had, as it were, stood lyrical sponsor. 

As I write thus, in these later years, 
I have not forgotten my own experiences 
of a first night at La Scala. 


True, I succeeded; but what does the 
world conceive as a rule of the young- 
artiste, when first launched upon the stage; 
of his consciousness of possessing the 
sacred fire, his consuming anxiety and 
apprehension, and, when all is over, his 
utter weariness from the reaction conse- 
quent on unwonted excitement, which 
even success cannot allay. These are some 
of the trials of a young singer at the 
commencement of his career, which, while 
leaving no trace upon him in the public 
eye, yet burn into his very soul. A 
plaything of idlers who seek amusement, 
he is at the mercy of public favour: and 
a faltering note or careless action may 
draw down upon him the hasty criticism 
of those who, while their opinion for some 
unexplained reason carries weight, are 
yet incapable of seeing further than the 
outer surface, and who may almost 
blight his career with a stroke of their 
pen; and the recollection of what "So and 
so" once said, is never quite forgotten. 

Of my home for nigh half a century 
— the Stage, — I could not write unkindly: 

yet, even I must admit, that jealousy 
dwells with all its votaries, Great triumphs 
will sometimes obliterate this feeling: but 
many a promising aspirant has sunk into 
an early grave, broken-hearted for the 
want of some sympathetic recognition. 

Among my friends then in Milan, the 
few days preceding my reappearance at La 
Scala, passed pleasantly away; and the 
chief of my special intimates was one 
Dr. Fraser, a good-natured young fellow 
from "over the Border," with a certain 
shrewd humour about him. 

He was liberal in money matters, but 
to pay a single penny beyond the actual 
sum due for a debt, he ever obstinately 

In all ways, Angus Fraser was most 
estimable: his wit was perhaps lacking in 
Hibernian sparkle, but, though slow, it 
was sure. He said once during a dinner 
at the "Embassy": So much has been 
spoken in praise of Dublin car drivers, 
that I suppose it is only there, "Carmen" 
can be played or sung in perfection. 

He did not altogether coincide with 


the general belief in the humour of this 
class; though he told several stories of 
their ready wit. 

One night after dutifully escorting an 
aunt of his home, on an "outside" car, 
he tendered the driver the legal fare, viz. 
sixpence. The Jehu regarded the coin 
with disgust, then said "Sure the drive 
ye've had's worth more than this now." 
"It's your legal fare" said the practical 
Doctor. "But the lady, Sir," said Pat, with 
a sly wink, "wouldn't ye give more on 
her account now". "Oh she's my aunt", 
"Well" responded the carman with lofty 
contempt, "if that's all you'll give for 
your aunt, I pity your uncle". 

On another occasion being late for a 
dinner engagement, Fraser rushed into 
the street and hailing a car, said to the 
carman, "Drive fast, I am late for dinner." 
He was brought to his destination so 
rapidly, that he felt as though like Ma- 
homet's coffin, he was between earth and 
air. The inevitable sixpence was tendered. 

"Why, Sir," said the carman in an 
aggrieved tone, "the mare would go home 

tail foremost, if she saw this coin; thank 
God, she's blind. "Well, it's your legal fare, 
my man." "Yes," muttered the carman 
mounting the box seat, "its the legal fare, 
bad luck to yur larnin", then raising his 
voice as he drove off, "may be it's a good 
thing for ye, that ye'se going where you'll 
get a dinner for nothing." 

On the last night of Signor Certoni's 
engagement, I occupied a quiet seat in 
the stage box, "Sonnambula" being the 
opera; its light music suited him ad- 
mirably, and he excelled in mezzo colour- 
ing. At the end of one phrase which 
he sung "con passionato", I heard some 
commotion in a neighbouring box, and 
ascertaining that a young lady had fainted, 
I went round with the object of offering 

She was a pale-faced fragile girl; and 
her mother seemed a weak nerveless 
woman. Accompanying them to their 
carriage, she told me her daughter had 
for some time been subject to fits of 
melancholy: she had been ordered to 
Italy for change, and as she had a passion 


for music, she had been taken to the 
opera as a last resource. 

Early the followmg morning Dr. Fraser 
called upon me, "My dear Reeves" said 
he, "you have rendered a signal service 
to a patient of mine." "Of yours" I 
echoed in surprise. "Yes, the young lady 
you gave assistance to last night, is a 
source of no little concern to me. She 
and her mother speak warmly of your 
kindness: do come over with me, and 
call upon them." 

"With pleasure," I answered, "but who 
are they?" My friend entered into a long 
statement of the circumstances of the 
case; and ended by saying: "If her ten- 
dency to melancholia cannot be cured it 
will undoubtedly prove fatal in a short 

Betimes, I found myself talking to 
the girl's parents, and it seemed to me 
that her father, though apparently a 
brusque, harsh - natured man, felt his 
daughter's condition far more acutely, 
than did her weak insipid mother. 

Oh, he said to me almost piteously, 


•'I would willingly resign all I possess, 
could I recall the past and see my child 
happy once more." 

And taking Fraser and myself into 
his confidence, he told us the whole story 
of the why and wherefore of his daughter's 
state of despondency, which change of 
scene and travelling could not alleviate: 
nay, it even seemed more pronounced 
since listening to "Sonnamhula" the pre- 
vious night. 

The old man's story surprised as much 
as it interested me: and on leaving the 
hotel, in company with Fraser, his answers 
to certain questions of mine, confirmed a 
decision I had already come to. 

"Angus," I declared, "I'll cure that 
girl yet." ,,You!" he said, surprised. ,,Yes, 
I make no pretensions to medical lore, 
but" — 

"If you can help the poor girl in 
any way" he observed, "I shall only be 
too happy." 

"But shall I get the fees?" asked I 

"My dear Reeves," he said seriously, 


"it is not a trivial matter; brain mischief 
we can do little to arrest; but if you can 
alleviate her condition in any way, do so 
for Heaven's sake." 

"When shall you call upon them 

"To-morrow morning, unless summon- 
ed earlier." "Well, say to-morrow, Fraser, 
and let me come with you." "Agreed, my 
dear fellow," said Angus, "and a thousand 
thanks: I am deeply interested in her 
case, remember she is an only child." 

That night I slept little, but thought 
of the past, and of the chequered ways 
of life; and next day accompanied by 
kind-hearted Angus, and another friend, 
I called upon the family; the parents 
received us in their drawing-room; the 
girl, who seemed weaker than ever, lay 
upon a couch. 

After we had exchanged salutations 
I said, "Permit me to introduce Signor 

"Why surely, cried the astonished 
father, it is" — "Henry Sherstone!" pas- 
sionately exclaimed the poor invalid, 

rushing into the outstretched arms of 
the supposed "Signor". 

By far the most astonished and deHght- 
ed of all, was the soi-disant bank -clerk 
himself; it was the realisation of his life 
dream: a dream that he had never dared 
to hope might come true: and there is 
now no happier couple than Henry 
Sherstone and his wife, nee Constance 



fter terminating my engagement at 
'Qji^ La Scala, I appeared with unvarying 
success at several other Itahan theatres. 

I then returned to England; and in 
December 1847 joined the company, which 
the late M. Jullien had formed for play- 
ing English Opera at Drury-Lane. 

Jullien had obtained much success as 
a conductor of promenade concerts; and 
he now aspired to make himself a name 
as an operatic director. Struck by the 
fact that the so-called "Grand Opera" of 
Paris was officially designated "Academy 
of Music," it had occurred to him that 

some intimate connection must exist be- 
tween the Opera and the Conservatoire. 
The pupils of the Paris Conservatoire 
receive, in fact, a certain number of free 
admissions from the Opera; and pupils 
of the Conservatoire, duly qualified, are 
allowed to sing in the Opera chorus. But 
beyond this very slight bond of union, 
no connection whatever exists between 
the Conservatoire and the Academic. 
The Academic "Eoyale," "Nationale," 
"Imperiale," as it has been successively 
called, derives its name from the Italian 
academia, signifying "concert," and has 
been known as the "Academic" ever 
since its first establishment upwards of 
two hundred years ago; whereas the Con- 
servatoire, whose constitution is supposed 
to be somehow bound up with the Opera, 
was only founded at the beginning of 
the present century. M. Jullien, however, 
was convinced that the Academic of 
Paris was thus designated from its being 
regarded as a school of art; and it seem- 
ed to him that the same sort of relations 
might with advantage be established be- 


tween our "Royal Academy of Music" 
and the Opera he proposed to found, as 
those which he beheved to exist between 
the Conservatoire and the Academic of 
Paris. "Thanks to this combination," his 
prospectus set forth, "hope and compe- 
tition will act as spurs to mental ca- 
pacity, while fortune and favour will 
urge the aspirant onward to a goal now 
for the first time presented to his eyes." 
Our Royal Academy of Music had 
scarcely the opportunity of contributing 
in any direct manner to such success as 
M. Jullien's enterprise met with. "What, 
however, chiefly concerns me in the 
matter is, that at Drury-Lane, as ma- 
naged by M. Jullien, I made my first 
appearance before a London audience in 
a leading operatic character. "Lucia di 
Lammermoor" was brought out in an 
English version; and my Italian success 
was fully renewed in London. "The 
most renaarkable event of the evening," 
writes the critic of the Times, the morn- 
ing after the first performance, "was 
the debut of Mr. Sims Reeves in the 

character of Edgnrdo. So rare a success 
has seldom been achieved by an English 
vocalist. To a voice of excellent quality, 
flexible in the highest degree, he adds 
the advantage of sedulous study in Italy, 
and comes before the public with all the 
style of an Italian singer. The duet in 
the first act showed the complete ma- 
nagement of the voice, and the ability 
of the artist to adapt it to the softest 
expressions of tenderness; but it left an 
impression that he would scarcely be 
equal to the terrible passion of the se- 
cond act. But this act was his triumph. 
The malediction, delivered with the great- 
est force, took the audience greatly by 
surprise; and the zeal with which he 
abandoned himself to the strong emotion 
of the scene produced an electrical effect. 
We have seldom seen so much passion 
so naturally assumed. It was Edgardo 
himself, with all his native fierceness: all 
his torments. The sorrows of the third 
act were rendered with the most touch- 
ing pathos, and with the nicest skill, 
the piano being sustained perfectly. At 


the fall of the curtain the first impulse 
of the audience was a universal cry of 

My singing in the part of Edgardo 
and the impression my performance made 
upon the audience, have been borne wit- 
ness to by Hector Berlioz, who had been 
engaged as orchestral conductor, and 
who, in a letter from London contained 
m his published correspondence {^'■Corres- 
pondance Inedite de Hector Berlioz,'''' page 153), 
wrote as follows: "The 'Bride of Lam- 
mermoor,' with Madame Gras, and Reeves, 
cannot, in my opinion, fail to go well. 
Reeves has a beautiful natural voice, and 
sings as well as it is possible to sing in 
this frightful English language." "The 
opening of our grand opera has had," 
he afterwards writes, "great success. The 
English press praises it with one accord. 
Madame Gras, and Reeves, the tenor, 
were recalled four or five times with 
frenzy; and really they both deserved it. 
Reeves is a discovery beyond price for 
Jullien. He has a charming voice of an 
essentially distinguished and sympathetic 


character; lie is a very good musician; 
his face is very expressive, and he plays 
with all his national fire as an Irishman." 
The reader is already aware that I was 
born at Shooters Hill, in Kent, of Eng- 
lish parents. 

M. Jullien proposed (in his prospectus) 
to bring out Gluck's "Iphigenia in Tauris;" 
and a consulting committee which he 
had formed, consisting of Sir Henry 
Bishop, Sir George Smart, M. Planche, 
and himself, was assembled to consider 
the advisability of producing the work; 
however, it was determined to leave it 

"Lucia" was, after a time, set aside 
for the production of a new opera by 
Balfe, in which I had accepted the tenor 
part. This was the "Maid of Honor," 
based on a subject which had already 
been treated with success — and not in 
one form alone — by the composer Flotow. 
Already, in 1843, Herr Flotow had joined 
two French composers, Burgmuller and 
Deldevez, in composing the music of a 
ballet called "Lady Henriette," which 

was afterwards produced at Drury Lane 
under the title of "Lady Henrietta, or 
the Statute Fair." Then a German hb- 
retto was written on the subject of the 
ballet, which, set to music by Flotow, 
was entitled "Martha." Flotow had given 
a particular charm to his work by in- 
troducing into the principal situation, or 
rather into several of the principal situa- 
tions, the beautiful Irish melody known 
as the "Last Rose of Summer;" and it 
has been said that "with this rose in his 
button-hole the Chamberlain of the Duke 
of Mecklenburg will go, at least a little 
way, down to posterity." In arranging 
"Martha" for the Italian stage, the com- 
poser added two new airs, one for the 
contralto, the other for the baritone; and 
he made some further change in re-ar- 
ranging it for the Theatre Lyriqu^e, where, 
thanks in a great measure to Madame 
Nilsson's charming impersonation of the 
heroine, it was represented upwards of 
three hundred nights. In the German 
piece the action takes place in the reign 
of Queen Anne. The author of the 


Italian version has, for some inscrutable 
reason, gone back to the fifteenth cen- 
tury. Thus the characters in the ItaUan 
"Martha" wear, or ought to wear, me- 
diseval dresses; though the heroine in- 
variably attires herself according to the 
latest fashions, while Nancy puts on any 
riding-habit that may happen to please 
her. In the French version the librettist 
has made the incidents of the drama 
occur almost in the present day. 

Balfe's librettist followed closely enough 
the incidents presented in Flotow's opera 
of "Martha," although he treated the sub- 
ject not with the lightness it demanded, but 
seriously, solemnly, and almost in melo- 
dramatic style. The "Maid of Honor," 
in spite of its rather ponderous libretto, 
is full of good, brilliant music; and Mr. 
Chas. Kenney, in his highly interesting 
"Life of Balfe," records the fact that it 
was "received by critics with unusual 
favour." But it somehow failed to fill 
the theatre. Balfe's biographer thinks 
that, had the performance of "Lucia" 
been continued, M. JuUien's enterprise 

would have been successful. The "Maid 
of Honor" did not in any case make 
the impression which had been expected 
from the work. Mr. Kenney attributes 
the comparative failure of Balfe's opera 
to the fact that Christmas, with its de- 
mand for pantomimes and absurdities of 
all kinds, was at hand. The principal 
parts in the new work were taken by 
Miss Birch, Miss Miran, Mr. Weiss and 

After the closing of the theatre, an 
angry correspondence between M. Jullien 
and Madame Dorus Gras appeared in the 
newspapers; while M. Jullien himself ap- 
peared in the Bankruptcy Court. In his 
letter replying to Madame Dorus Gras, who 
had complained (without just cause) that 
the whole of my salary had been paid, 
M. Jullien wrote: "Injustice to Mr. Reeves, 
I cannot omit publicly acknowledging 
my gratitude towards him for his kind 
and considerate conduct during the many 
difficulties which have arisen in the course 
of the season; he has at all times used 
his utmost exertions to serve the theatre. 


and has on several occasions waived 
privileges for the general good, which, 
as an artist of his standing, he might 
well have exacted." 




njLt happened one night, that I had an 
(^ appointment with a friend at Hamp- 
stead, so I took my seat in an evening train 
from Broad St. The carriage was empty 
when I entered, but just as the train 
was starting, a man accompanied by two 
Httle boys hurriedly got in. 

The new arrival was a powerfully built 
individual with a healthy round face, and 
both he and the boys were well, but rather 
thickly clad for this the summer time of 
3^ear; seemingly they belonged to the 
well to do working class, and the restless 
lads fidgetted from side to side, while 


the man (apparently their father) wiped 
beads of perspiration off his brow. 

Unquestionably his expression betoken- 
ed a frank disposition, and yet it needed 
no disciple of Gall or Spurzheim, to trace 
something restless and anxious in the 
searching grey eyes: not a furtive look, 
but as though his mind were ill at ease, 
and I frequent!}^ found his glance directed 
towards myself. 

Suddenly one of the boys lurched 
against the door, which being insecurely 
fastened, flew open: with a quick move- 
ment I caught him and fortunately pre- 
vented his falling out. 

The expression portrayed upon the 
man's countenance I shall never forget. 

That he was terrified will readily be 
imagined, although neither that feeling 
nor a sentiment of gratitude towards 
myself were sufficient to account for the 
look of agony, followed by an awful 
pallor, that overspread his face. 

With no little concern at his look 
and manner I said "Pray, don't be so 
disturbed, it is the fault of some careless 


porter." "Curse the railway," he shouted, 
"it has killed two of my children already." 

I started involuntarily, his accents 
were so vengeful, and I watched him 
apprehensively, as he again wiped his 
brow, for he was evidently labouring 
under strong emotion: but mastering his 
feelings he said respectfully: — 

"I am sorry, Sir, to have behaved so 
hastily, but if you knew what I have 
gone through, you would make allowance 
for me. I am heart-broken, and it's little 
wonder. Sir, for my poor children were 
killed before my very eyes," here pulling 
forth his handkerchief he sobbed audibly. 

Tears of men come not lightly; when 
they do, it makes sorrow full and com- 
plete; recovering a little he spoke. 

"I am a railway signal man, Sir," said 
he, "and have been in this company's ser- 
vice since I was a boy; at the time my 
great grief happened I was employed 
at the local junction. I had very little 
time to call my own; out of the poor 
wages I received for my unnaturally long 
hours of work I managed to save money 


and buy the little house in which my 
family and I still live; this could not have 
been done without my wife's help, she 
took in washing and did work in the 
neighbourhood, which greatly helped us." 

"Our cottage faces the box, where at 
the time of which I'm telling you, I 
worked the signals, on the proper hand- 
ling of which depends so much valuable 
life and property; we then had four 
children and I was very happy, for I 
never enter a public house. Sir, and all 
my spare time is passed with my family; 
besides, when at work I could see them 
all day long and they could see me." 

"Every day I was on duty; my wife 
sent over my dinner regularly in the care 
of two of my children. I always looked 
forward to it and a chat with my two 
dear youngsters, who came with it on 
their return from morning school." 

The narrator paused here, as though 
overcome by sad recollections and passed 
his hand seross his forehead; however, he 

"Esther and Richard were bonny little 


ones, they were twins, and but for their 
difference in dress you would' nt have 
known them apart; and Hetty had such 
a winsome way of stroking my hair and 
saying "Daddy," I don't know if all 
fathers think so much of their little 
creatures as I do, Sir. Perhaps the Al- 
mighty saw I cared too much for the 
dear twins, and so took them to Heaven; 
Mr. Greenway, our vicar has told me so 
more than once; he's a kind gentleman, 
and I suppose, knows what's right, but it's 
hard to be told you're wrong in loving 
your own. I'm not a scholar. Sir, but I 
will venture to say, it seems to me a 
greater sin to illtreat children or let 
them run wild in the streets, and man 
as I am, I've often felt bitterly ashamed 
of my kind, when I read the newspapers." 

The train here ran into the station, 
which was my destination, and I rose to 
leave the carriage, but my new friend 
looked disappointed at my approaching 
departure, while I felt not a little regret 
to lose the end of this sad story. 

Drawing the two boys towards him. 


he said in a despondent voice: "Sit down 
bairns, no one cares to talk to us." 

A sudden impulse took possession of 
me, and seeing by my watch that I was 
early for my appointment, I said, resuming 
my seat: "I will go on to the next s^"ation, 
and in the meantime hear the end of 
your story, I have time enough to do so 
and return here again." 

The shriek of a whistle interrupted 
us, as a London train rushed by. Starting 
violently he seized hold of the two 
boys, crying out: "That's her, curse her." 
"Her?" I said in wonder. 

"The engine that killed my poor 
children. Sir, I'd know her whistle among 
a thousand;" then checking himself, he 

"Look, Sir, at the house we are pass- 
ing." "Yes," I said „What of it?" 

"It's the same as mine, but smaller, 
you see the long garden sloping down 
to the railway line." "I do." 

"Well it is like ours, though mine is 
larger and better kept, for I spent a deal 
of my spare time, working in it." 


"It was a beautiful day, close and 
sunny, when my poor children last came 
down that garden. I had been for several 
hours busy signalling trains, the local 
races requiring extra service for pas- 
sengers and cattle." 

"Everything had gone smoothly, not- 
withstanding the extra traffic, and as the 
school bell rang, I began to look for the 
coming of my children. "They'll be here 
with the dinner presently," I thought, and 
just then I saw their mother give Richard 
the basket and Esther the bright tin can, 
and on they came down the gravelled 

"At first my wife used to join them, 
then, as time went on, she stood and 
watched them as they ran on together, 
but use breeds contempt of danger, and 
eventually they used to come and go by 
themselves, while I always kept a sharp 
look out for passing trains." 

On this particular day I waited on 
the ledge in front of the box; it did me 
good to gaze on the dear children in 
that bright merry sunshine. 


"Esther was first to reach the end of 
the garden and she waited a moment for 
Richard; they passed through a gap in 
the hedge and stood upon the Hne; just 
then a special engine came at full speed 
round the curve." 

I had no warning of its coming; had 
it been signalled, I must have known, 
as I had been keeping a sharp look out all 
the morning, on rushed the accursed 
monster, while doubly accursed was the 
heedless wretch who drove it; I stood 
there and saw all, powerless to save my 
poor children. 

"One chance only remained if the 
little ones would hear me, signs they 
could not see; they were right in the path 
of the engine, and I sent foith a yell 
that seemed to have my heart's blood in 
it; for I broke a small vessel in the 
effort I made." 

"And they did hear it, so too did the 
wretch in charge of the engine; and he 
saw my outstretched hands, waving him 
back. Shriek upon shriek escaped from 
the whistle, as he endeavoured to put on 


the brakes, but too late; the monster 
pressed on; my darhngs saw it now, but 
frightened and bewildered, they stood still." 

"Then, oh Heaven, all grew dark before 
me, I knew that in that mocking sunlight 
my children lay dead, and with a cry I 
staggered and fell senseless." 

"A modest stone in the churchyard 
near us, shows where Esther and Richard 
were buried after the coroner's inquest 
(miserable farce as it was) had declared 
that "nobody was to blame, but don't let 
it happen again." 

"I grew calmer in time and now seldom 
mention their names at home; but, Sir," 
and here the man laid his hand upon 
my arm and looking earnestly into my 
face, said: "It has left me heart-broken, 
and often have I prayed the Almighty 
to take me: then the thought comes that 
this is cowardly, for do not their mother 
and brothers remain?" 

"But one thing at times goads me 
almost to madness, that engine. Sir, that 
passed us a while ago, with a fiendish 

scream, that's the monster that destroyed 
my children". 

"How can yon tell?" I asked in 

"I don't know, Sir, but I can tell; in 
the noon of day, or dead of night I can 
tell when that engine goes by. The 
driver, who killed my children, was dis- 
missed by the company; but it remains. 
I don't need to see it, miles away, I 
feel it coming. By day I turn my head 
aside and will not look; but at night I 
seem to follow its course into the darkness, 
and when the gleam of its accursed lamps 
has passed, I trace its black outline 
and I curse it. I know too, that one 
day I shall either find means to destroy 
it or it will kill me". 




n the beginning of 1848, on the 10th of 
#> February, I made my first appearance 
in oratorio, the work selected for the 
occasion being "Judas Maccabseus," given 
at Exeter Hall, under the direction of 
Mr. John Hullah. "Mr. Reeves," wrote 
the Musical World, in noticing the per- 
formance, "was listened to with great 
anxiety. His declamatory powers in reci- 
tative singing no one could doubt, but it 
was feared, his operatic style would not 
happily consort with the solidity and 
breadth demanded in Handel's music. 
Besides this, the songs for the principal 
tenor parts in "Judas Maccabseus" were 

written in the composer's peculiar florid 
style, and required a flexibility of voice 
that few, who had heard Mr. Reeves in 
'Lucia' or the 'Maid of Honor,' had given 
him credit for. Nevertheless, Mr. Reeves 
soon set aside all fears on that score, and 
proved himself in no wise less efficient in 
the interpretation of Handel's music than 
in that of Donizetti or Balfe. In the two 
florid songs, "Call forth thy Powers," 
and "Sound an Alarm," which require 
great flexibility and rapid enunciation, he 
was admirable. Nor was he less happy 
in the beautiful air, "How vain is Man," 
which was given with the utmost ex- 
pression and exhibited his cantabile to per- 
fection. Mr. Reeves obtained enthusiastic 
demonstrations from the audience after 
each song." 

I sang again in "Judas Maccabseus" 
at the opening Concert for the season 
of the Sacred Harmonic Society. The 
performance was for the benefit of the 
British artisans, who had been driven out 
of Paris by the revolution of Februar}". 
"The principal vocal attraction of the 


evening," according to the Musical World, 
"was the appearance of Mr. Sims Reeves. 
This geutleman, on whom it seems now to 
be understood that the mantle of Braham 
is destined to fall, was vociferously 
applauded throughout the evening. His 
best effort was his first song, 'Call forth 
thy Powers,' which, although not one of 
Handel's divinest inspirations, is admirably 
calculated to seduce the singer to obey 
the injunction given in the title." 

"It is not too much to say," observed 
a contributor to the Morning Post, in 
an article on myself considered as a 
singer of Handelian music, "that in the 
character of Edgar of Ravenswood he had 
positively electrified the town, crowds 
being actually melted into tears night 
after night by his exquisitely pathetic 
delivery of the slow movement of Edgar s 
plaintive air, which may be said to form 
the finale of the 'Lucia.' It was held that 
a calmer, and what was thought to be 
a more scholastic style, would be better 
adapted to the rendering of Handel's 
masterpiece; and Mr. Reeves had to 


struggle at first against a certain amount 
of prejudice on the part of the hearers, 
and also, it must be added, against an im- 
perfect and partially mistaken Handelian 
tradition. Every one knows that the great 
master, whom we look upon as half an 
Englishman, yielded so far homage to 
the taste of his age, that he indulged in 
frequent rolling passages which used to be 
commonly regarded as mere ornaments, 
and fioriture , extraneous to the general 
bearing of the piece. On the contrary, 
Mr. Heeves, endowed in a very high 
degree with the gift of spontaneous sym- 
pathy, which is the first essential for the 
great artist, felt instinctively that the 
passion of the song — ^joy, sorrow, anger, 
patriotic spirit, be it what it might — must 
be breathed through every measure of the 
strain, not artificially and obstrusively, as 
is sometimes done by his imitators, but 
by the magic of that artistic inspiration 
which our French neighbours call 'le feu 
sacre.' Curious it was to see the vast 
number of admirers, rapt beyond them- 
selves by the musician's spell, responding 


enthusiastically to tender exultation or 
fervent praise, and then doubting whether 
the spell had not been unlawful, and 
whispering to one another that this was 
not quite the true oratorio style after all. 
Of course it has been long acknowledged 
that this was and is the only oratorio 
style of singing worthy of the name." 

The view just enunciated had already 
been well set forth by the late Mr. Chorley, 
in an article on the Handel Festival in 
the Quarterly Review. "All leading artists," 
said Mr. Chorley, "who have become inter- 
preters of Handel with any success have 
sought to follow the example thus set; 
and it is not too much to say that we 
owe to Sims Reeves — his genius, his art, 
and his unwearied labours — a positive re- 
volution in the interpretation of Handel's 

A romantic incident occurred about 
this period, which I will endeavour to 
recount in the following chapter. 




iT/^ady Huntingford was admitted by all 
^^ to be the most accomplished eques- 
trienne, who ever "witched the world 
with noble horsemanship" in Rotten Row; 
and it was indeed a sight for gods and 
men to behold her ladyship's classic form, 
attired in a faultlessly fitting habit, when 
cantering along on her favourite horse 
(a steed black as night) as he daintily 
shook the tan from his polished fetlocks; 
or when, in some moment of fitful caprice, 
giving loose rein to "Roland," she vanish- 
ed into the distance with a speed like 
that of the ghostly rider in the weird 
old German ballad. 

Lady Huntingford was the most ad- 


mired, and most talked of woman in that 
wide circle of society over which she 
reigned with autocratic splendour; and 
her house became the rendezvous of all 
who were famous in art and literature, 
and the resort of leading members of the 
Conservative party. 

Many were her ladyship's Protean 
gifts: she sang like an Italian prima donna, 
her opinions on all subjects bespoke a 
bright and clever brain and the ready 
wit that fascinated guests at her frequent 
receptions and other gatherings, where 
she shone "a bright particular star" was 
surprising in a woman not yet twentyfive 
years old. Her husband was her anti- 
podes in many ways; he sought quiet, 
she, excitement; and seldom did he appear 
at festive assemblies, while she was con- 
stant in attendance. 

Lord Huntingford being leader of the 
Conservative party, which was at the time 
of which I am speaking, the Opposition; 
and a man of infinite resource tenacious 
of his political principles, well deserved 
the confidence reposed in him. 


It happened at this period, that the 
body pohtic were in a ferment over some 
question affecting the franchise and wliilc 
the Whigs "stumped the country," loudly 
affirming the wisdom of the contemplated 
measure: equally loud were the Conser- 
vatives in their vociferations against it. 

As the day for the third reading of the 
hotly disputed Bill drew near, both of 
the contending parties took steps to 
concentrate their available strength; as, 
if the Government were defeated on this 
question, no alternative remained but to 
resign; and many wandering and sporting 
M. P.'s, who were far away from the 
scene of action were earnestly besought 
to return, and rally round their respective 

It is a healthy sign of our parlia- 
mentary system, that public ferment 
seldom begets private rancour; but Mr. 
Mandeville, a Whig squire dwelling in the 
North, formed an exception to the above 
rule, and abhorred the party whereof 
Lord Huntingdon was chief, and would 
as soon have thought of breaking his 


word of honour, as of associating with 
any of the opposition "Ughts." Yet the 
"whips" on his own side found him diffi- 
cult to manage, and very seldom was 
the M. P. found in the House or even 
in town; preferring an old fashioned 
country life, he was regarded as some- 
what of a fossil. 

He remained a bachelor, and it was ge- 
nerally understood, his large landed estates 
would ultimately devolve upon three ne- 
phews, and be divided among them in 
equal shares. Each of these latter like- 
wise wrote M. P. after his name; indeed 
any candidate, whom Squire Mandeville's 
influence supported, was almost certain 
of election, in that particular county, at 

On this impending question of the 
franchise the great political parties were 
so equally balanced, partly through de- 
fection, and partly through pressure, that 
it was declared on all sides, half a dozen 
votes for or against must decide the fate 
of the Government; and Mr. Mande- 
ville enjoyed the unique position of 


being able to control this number if 
not more. 

Such a belligerent Whig was not 
doubted for a moment by his own party; 
they would have as soon expected the 
Bank of England to fail them as he; 
yet strangely enough, the Opposition 
were not without hopes of winning him 
over to their side on this vital question. 
For the Squire stood between two alter- 
natives; he must either consent to the 
lowering of the franchise and thereby 
confer upon Giles and Hodge the dig- 
nity of voters: a proceeding little in accor- 
dance with his old fashioned notions, or 
be false to the interests of the party of 
which he considered himself the back 
bone. — 

He felt the dilemma so irksome that 
he resolved to go out of town for a day 
or two. 

"But I shall return in time to support 
the Government," said he to his nephews, 
"intensely as I dislike the Bill." 

They were heartily in accord with 
him; still had it been otherwise, they 


would not have risked his displeasure by 
opposing him. 

Squire Mandeville went to sojourn at 
Highgate; it suited his countr}- proclivities, 
3^et it was near the centre of events. 

The day after his arrival Mr. Mande- 
ville set out for his customary ride. He 
weighed sixteen stone in the saddle, but 
his powerful thoroughbred carried him 
easily; alternately cantering or trotting, 
he had explored some of the beautiful 
country adjacent; and taking an extend- 
ed sweep over Hampstead's glorious heath, 
rode down the broad slopes leading to 
Hendon and Harrow. 

When he neared the picturesque church 
of Kingsbury, a lady also on horseback 
cantered by, revealing to his practised 
eye the very poetry of equestrian motion; 
a liveried groom followed; a sight seldom 
seen in that unfrequented place. 

Mr. Mandeville gazed admiringly upon 
her receding figure, and took his way 
towards the high road; proceeding a few 
yards he again looked northward, and 
was startled by seeing some object flying 


swiftly across the fields. Presently it 
came into clearer view and he recog- 
nized the lady who had passed him only 
a little time before; her horse had ap- 
parently ran away with her; but he 
noticed that she still held one of the reins. 

Mr. Mandeville rose in his saddle, 
and man of 16 stone as he was, cleared 
the opposing hedge m gallant style. 

"Thank Heaven," he thought, "her 
horse is coming this way, I can soon 
arrest his course." 

On came the refractory steed, his rider 
nearly level with the saddle, though still 
keeping hold of the rein; but just as the 
scared face of the endangered damsel 
was close beside him, her animal swerved 
and again went madly away. 

He tore after them in pursuit over 
the fields, but his great weight and the 
unwonted exertion soon told upon him, 
and both he and his horse were com- 
pelled to desist. 

Then the evil spirit, that seemed to 
possess the lady's steed, suddenly depart- 
ed, and it floundered and stopped. 


This renewed the zeal of the ex- 
hausted, but chivah'ous Squire, and he 
caught the damsel as she was slowly 
falling forward in a half fainting con- 

"What a providential escape; my dear 
lady," cried the worthy M. P. gently 
supporting her in the saddle. She look- 
ed at him with a winning smile of thanks 
and then said in an entreating voice. 
"Take me home, please." "My mistress 
lives there. Sir," said the groom, who had 
somewhat tardily appeared upon the 
scene, pointing to a red house at a 
short distance. 

Still supporting his fair charge the 
weary, but gallant Squire conducted her 
slowly thereto; and when the house was 
reached bore her tenderly inside. 

Very faintly she murmured, while 
gracefully reclined on a sofa: "Thank 
you a thousand times." "Do not regard 
my small service, said he, but grant me 
the privilege of calling to-morrow to en- 
quire if you are fully restored." The per- 
mission was graciously given and he retired. 

On calling the following day at the 
house, a footman who opened the door 
said: "Her ladyship is not" — when the 
groom came forward, and interrupting 
sharply, said: "Miss Singleton is much 
better, thank you, Sir, but the doctor 
forbids her seeing any visitors to-day." 

"Miss Singleton," muttered the foot- 
man, "then in an undertone to himself, 
I forgot." — 

The following morning found Mr. 
Mandeville, and the fair equestrian tete a 
tete; and strange were the emotions which 
filled his bachelor heart while listening 
to her silver tones as she expressed her 
thanks, and gratitude to him. 

Then they conversed on current to- 
pics, and the honest Squire, bewildered 
by her cultivated wit and lost in ad- 
miration of her beauty, w^as soon many 
fathoms deep in love." 

"May I renew my visit to-morrow," 
he anxiously enquired when taking his 

"Renew it often," said she with a be- 
witching smile, "what do I not owe to you?" 

That night brought no sleep to Squire 
Mandeville. Love had taken entire pos- 
session of him, and "could she, would 
she forget the disparity in their years?" 
became his one absorbing thought. 

On going to her next day the poli- 
tical movement then occupying the public 
mind was broached, and like Minerva, 
armed at all points, she combatted his 
views; at first he rebelled against her 
theories, but subdued by her magnetic 
influence he admitted all her arguments. 
— Time went on and the fortress being 
as yet impregnable, he resolved on a tour 
de force; so also, did she, although of a 
very different nature. 

Next day, the Squire falling on his 
knees beside the chair of his fair ens- 
laver, supplicated her as follows: 

"Miss Singleton, I am a plain blunt 
man say that you will accept my heart 
and fortune, and overlook — " 

She restrained him: "Mr. Mandeville 
I could hardly refuse you anything." 
"You accept me then," he cried raptu- 
rously. "Not so fast," said she, "recollect. 


the Bill we were discussing is to be read 
for the third time to-night, oppose the 
measure; get your friends to rally round 
you, and turn out the Government; you 
can do it; and then I may." 

"Never," exclaimed the Squire, "I 
cannot do that." 

"Not even for my sake," and for the 
first time her fingers slightly pressed his. 
"Do this for me; really it is asking very 
little; on all other points continue to 
accord with your party; oblige me in this, 
and to-morrow I will say — " "What," 
he entreated. "Do not ask me now." — 
"Ah," (the foolish old man almost wept), 
"3^ou will consent to be my wife." 

"Wait till to-morrow; and remember 
my dearest wish to-night; surely you will 
make this slight sacrifice for one who" — 
"Darling," he sighed; but she rose with 
an imperious gesture: "Come to-morrow, 
and I will give you your answer;" then 
smiling sweetly as she bid him farewell, 
she said in a voice of sincerity impossible 
to doubt: "The trial may be great for 
you, it is still greater for me." 


A day later, while the political world 
were discussing the defeat of the Go- 
vernment the previous night, owing to 
the unexpected action of Mr. Mande- 
ville and his nephews, the senior M. P. 
of that name was ushered into the bou- 
doir of Miss Singleton's bijou residence. 

That bewitching damsel was unusually 
long in making her appearance, mean- 
while the impassioned though antique 
lover paced the artistically adorned apart- 
ment in agitation; at last she entered 
with a heightened colour in her cheeks 
that made her more lovely than ever. 

She advanced, and shaking the hand 
of the expectant Squire with effusion 
said: "I am your debtor for life; allow 
me to introduce my husband, Lord 

"Good Heavens, you are — " "Lady 
Huntingford," suavely observed her hus- 
band, the new Premier of England. 

Poor Mr. Mandeville! his eyes pro- 
jected from his head hke a crab's, and 
for some moments it seemed as though he 
would be seized with an apoplectic fit. 


"Air! air," he gasped as he sank into a 
chair, "open the window." Gradually, 
however, he recovered himself and the 
peer and his wife strove to soothe him 
with sweet speeches. 

"No more, my lord," said he at last, 
"no words of mine could serve to express 
my sense of your and her conduct in 
this matter; remember I was the means 
of saving her life." "Pardon me," said 
Lord Huntingford, "my wife is the most 
accomplished horse-woman in England." 

"But her horse ran away?" 

"Of course," her ladyship explained, 
"he did what I wanted him to do." 
"Such deceit. Madam, deserves," — 

"Mr. Mandeville, recollect the exi- 
gencies of political strife: all is fair in 
love and war." 

"My heart and reputation are both 
broken," said the poor Squire, as he 
heavily rose to depart. "Ah," said Lady 
Huntingford, with a repentant air, "if 
in the future you ever think of me, re- 
member I did onl)^ what I was compell- 


ed to do, and you have no warmer 
friends in the world than my husband 
and myself." 

Soon after the Squire resigned his 
seat in Parliament and retired to his 
country house, where he died; it was 
thought, of a broken heart. 

•v-^ '■ 



t joined Mr. Luinley's Company at Her 
Majesty's, singing the part of Carlo, 
in "Linda di Chamonni," one of Doni- 
zetti's latest, and in some respects most 
characteristic operas. He composed 
"Linda" for Vienna in 1842. In 1843 
he prodnced "Don Pasquale" at the 
Theatre Italien, and "Don Sebastien" at 
the Academic of Paris; and the year 
afterwards brought out at Naples "Ca- 
tarina Cornaro," his last work. In the 
Swiss opera of "Linda di Chamouni," 
founded on the old French melodrama 
of "La Grace de Dieu," we find especi- 


ally in the music of the contralto part, 
a considerahle amount of local colour; 
an important dramatic element which 
Donizetti had previously overlooked, or 
at least had not turned to any account. 
But the sentimental personality of Carlo 
runs the risk of being overshadowed both 
by the graceful, sympathetic Linda, and 
even by Lindas devoted attendant, the 
boy with the contralto voice who follows 
her from Chamouni to Paris; and who, 
content if he could be of the least ser- 
vice to her, would gladly follow her to 
the end of the world. I succeeded, how- 
ever, in makin g Carlo an interesting if not 
a dramatic character. Shortly after my 
return I accepted an engagement with 
a manager of a type not uncommen and 
the story of my connection with him is 
worth relating. 



2J5^^^l'i^§' ^1^^ height of the London sea- 

(c^:^ son, I was singing in "Fra Diavolo," 
and other operas at — theatre; the business 
was enormous, money being turned away 
nightly at the doors; while policemen 
had no easy task, even in the early even- 
ing, preventing the crowd from impeding 
traffic in that always thronged thorough- 
fare, the Strand. 

Our manager was a clever business 
man of good appearance and manner; a 
facile linguist and penman, he occupied 
a prominent position on two religious 
periodicals of high repute in clerical 


Yet it was whispered that his private 
life was far from stainless; and though 
I knew of nothing to justify these ru- 
mours, I could not bring myself to Uke 
or trust him; and perhaps this feeling 
became strengthened by the deference 
which marked his bearing towards me. 

His "suavitur in modo" pleased the 
public, however, and Mr. Spicer Moncrieff 
was held in high regard by the non-pro- 
fessional world. A man over forty, he 
was always expensively, though quietly 
dressed; and enjoyed the privilege of 
honorary membership at more than one 
club. But "knowing ones" winked aside 
when it was mentioned in the papers, 
that Mr. Moncrieff had addressed another 
pubhc meeting advocating principles of 
universal philanthropy. 

"I'll tell his wife of his goings on," 
I heard our leading baritone say once, 
during a rehearsal. 

"You'll never get the chance," growl- 
ed the basso profundo, to whom this re- 
mark was addressed, "That invisible female 
resides somewhere among the Welsh 


mountains, and is always kept at a re- 
mote distance from the corrupting in- 
fluence of the Drama, ahem!" 

These and Hke remarks denoted in 
what manner this theatrical Pecksniff 
was esteemed by his professional brethren: 
however a certain nobleman, Lord Fitz 
Ordinary, was his constant associate. 

That this wealthy peer advanced him 
large sums of money, every one knew, 
or said they knew; but the cautious 
Moncrieff took care that no evidence 
verbal or written of these transactions 
should come to the knowledge of the 
world in general; for the manager, editor 
and quasi public moralist, belonged to 
that class of men whose sole guiding 
principle is Self, and Self-interest. 

This principle clearly dominated the 
terms of Mr. Spicer Moncrieff's agreement 
mth myself: notwithstanding, I stipulated 
for an augmented chorus and orchestra, 
and that my attendance at rehearsals 
should not be imperative, and with some 
little difficulty obtained these concessions. 

On the opening night of "Fra Diavolo" 


I happened during a "wait" to be near 
one of the side scenes; and my attention 
was at once arrested by a female chorus 
singer, whom I had not previously noticed. 
She was a girl of very striking appearance 
with a lovely face, and tall, classically 
moulded form; her nervous, amateurish 
manner only seemed to make her beauty 
more remarkable. 

I listened with some curiosity for her 
voice, and was surprised to hear, as it 
blended with those of the other singers, 
that it was a rich and resonant contralto 
of great power. That there was some- 
thing mj^sterious about the young girl, I 
instantly divined, and that it would be 
a duty to shield her from evil, was also 
clear, for in the manager's box were 
Mr. Moncrieff and his friend Lord Fitz 
Ordinary, both closely watching her. 

At the conclusion of the act, it was 
not necessary for me to retire to m}^ 
dressing-room; presently Mr. Moncrieff 
and his noble friend crossed the stage, 
and I found myself undergoing the ho- 
nour of an introduction to the latter. 


Our salutations were brief, but not 
shorter than, on my side at least, was 
desired; subsequentl}^ I went into the 
green room, and there stood the young 
chorus singer with downcast eyes, and 
blushing painfully, while Lord Fitz Ordi- 
nary was apparently paying her the most 
devoted attention. Mr. Moncrieff hovered 
in the background with an expression on 
his face, which made me long to thrash 
him then and there. I crossed over to 
the girl, unheeding the scowl which knit- 
ted the brOAV of the wretched little sprig 
of nobility at my approach, and said to 
her: "You have a beautiful voice; would 
you not like to become a leading singer?" 

"Oh, Mr. Reeves," she replied, enthu- 
siasm overcoming for a moment her ner- 
vous shyness, "it is my one ambition." 

"Have you sung in public before?" 

"No," she said, while her would be 

admirer fidgetted angrily at my temerity. 

"Have you ever been on the stage?" 

"Never, until to-night." 

"Your voice has been trained though." 


"It has," she admitted, with an em- 
barrassed air. 

"May I ask by whom?" 

"Stage waits, Mr. Reeves," shouted 
the call-boy; and I hastened from the 

Evidently my entrance and conver- 
sation had been the reverse of pleasing 
to the manager and his friend; indeed 
the latter was heard to mntter most un- 
complimentary things concerning singers 
in general and one tenor in particular. 

Never was encore so bitterly distaste- 
ful to me as the one I received in this 
act, the public, insisting on the repetition 
of my song, little imagined the state of 
my feehngs while responding. 

The ordeal over, I hurried to the 
green room, but no sign could I see of 
the chorus singer, the manager, or his 
"noble" friend. Time passed, and the 
curtain rose on the last act, still they 
came not, and I would have given a 
thousand pounds for knowledge of their 
movements; it provoked me so much that 
it became a personal feeling: and I swore 


that neither Moncrieff or his friend 
should compass their ends, if it were 
in my power to prevent them. At last 
the curtain fell, and as I was leaving the 
stage I happened to encounter the ballet 

"Madam," I said hastily, "can I speak 
with you a moment; it is concerning the 
new lady chorus singer." "I don't know 
her. Sir, nor the chorus-master very well." 

"But you know Lord Fitz Ordinary." 

"Rather," she said with a quick glance 
out of the corner of her eye, "Where 
is he?" 

"He went away some time ago with 
Mr. Moncrieff, but the manager will have 
to come back for the closing of the house, 
he has to look after that." 

This was cold comfort; still, it some- 
what lessened my apprehension. 

Whispering my suspicions and taking 
some money from my purse, I said: "You 
understand now, and will let me know 
anything that happens." 

"You are very kind, Mr. Reeves, I'll 
do what I can." 


I rushed to the dressing-room, hastily 
changed my stage costume, and hurried 
down stairs. I found the balletmistress 
waiting for me; she whispered, the 
manager's carriage is standing in Bed- 
ford St., "with Lord F. and the lady inside." 

"Come with me at once," I said. As 
we reached the spot Mr. Moncrieff was 
leaving the vehicle, which was on the 
point of starting; I ran to the horse's 
head: and the coachman instantly pulled 
up, while, taken completely aback, Mr. 
Moncrieff remained speechless as I opened 
the door. 

When she saw me, the frightened 
girl leaned forward eagerly, saying in 
an appealing voice. "Take me away; oh! 
do take me away!" 

"What the devil do you want here," 
shouted his lordship in a fury. I made 
him no answer, but merely saying 'Come' 
to the girl, I helped her out of the car- 
riage before he could detain her. 

"Will you tolerate this audacious in- 
trusion, Moncrieff," said he savagely to 
the manager. 

His confederate, who was as enraged 
as himself, endeavoured to seize the poor, 
scared creature, and to threaten me; but 
placing her in charge of the ballet-mistress, 
I turned to him and said: "I do not fear 
you or any man, and if you have any 
grievance in the matter, bring it into a 
court of law." 

Happily restored to her parents, the 
deluded girl has never since attempt- 
ed to follow a theatrical career; I am 
not at liberty to speak further of her 
story, but she was of good family, her 
parents being intimate friends of Mr. 
Moncriefif's invisible wife, and whenever 
I happen to meet her, her downcast eyes, 
and mantling cheeks bear evidence, that 
the occasion of our first interview is not 
yet forgotten. 



^(^T'illard O'Neill was 22 years old, of 
?© medium height, but broad shoulder- 
ed; he gave tokens of becomiing in the 
future a strong powerful man. 

His skin was a clear brown, his eyes 
dark and expressive, he sang well and 
smoked amazingly. 

He was an ardent partaker of every 
field-sport in the neighbourhood, but card 
or drinking parties found him wanting; 
somewhat overbearing to those of his own 
sex, he seemed ever suave and attentive 
to the opposite. 

The refinements of Nature are more 
attractive, than those of Art, and Willard 

O'Neill looked every inch a gentleman; 
and though not "to the manner born" his 
speech and gesture were always graceful 
and polished. 

An only son, and motherless, he was 
for the most part master of his own life; 
his two sisters were vain, frivolous girls 
and his father was old and infirm, but 
being posessed of considerable property 
and generally successful in agricultural 
ventures, took life easily; though buying 
and selling a great deal, his bargains 
were not at all onesided and it was his 
boast, that he never beat a man down 
to the last penny. 

Except when his old enemy, the gout, 
took him in hand and wantonly asserted 
its demoniacal existence, he seemed as 
to temper a square man all round, if 
the paradox may be employed. 

Willard, early thrown with spirits 
kindred in degree but poor in pvirse, de- 
veloped plans of levying black mail upon 
the "governor," that showed an amount 
of artistic talent both in conception and 
execution; sometimes the old man hinted 

more than doubt of the validity of the 
claims made upon him, but Willard's 
assumption of injured innocence brought 
conviction to his father's mind and to him 
the sum he wanted. A facile pen, ready 
tongue, and the aid of companions who 
benefited not a little by his extortions, 
contributed to his success; confederates at 
remote distances would simulate business 
demands, that the post-mark authenticat- 
ed, and so the game went on successfully. 

Willard O'Neill possessed a mobile 
plastic disposition, which could be easily 
influenced for good or evil; among the 
unthinking, none were more thoughtless, 
while at other times he grew sombre and 
meditative to a degree, surprising those 
who knew him superficially. 

One fine summer morning, taking an 
early train, he set forth, rod and line in 
hand, determined to be alone; this lone- 
liness meant reflection and resolution. 

Alighting at the desired station, he 
soon reached the river Lee, which seemed 
alive with spangled trout, skimming its 
glassy surface, disappearing and vexa- 

tiously risiug again exactly where they 
were not looked for. 

The trees, a mass of green splendour, 
drooped to the waters edge, as if welcom- 
ing the kisses of the wavelets, but though 
charming as a picture, they were prac- 
tically a nuisance by reason of their 
hanging low and thus endangering the 
angler's line, while as the sun's rays 
grew fiercer, the fish became more shy 
and retiring. 

Industriously, Willard O'Neill brought 
fresh allurements from his well stocked 
fly -book and whipped the river anew; it 
was of no use, those wayward trout would 
not rise. 

So he pushed on along the banks and 
as he went forward, the conformation of 
the river began to change. It became 
wider, while the current increased in 
depth and velocity, and the declivitous 
banks which rose on either hand, closely 
covered with brushwood, rendered walking- 
irksome; so Willard resolved upon put- 
ting away his rod and seeking repose in 
a shady nook, if he could find one. Pre- 


sently he espied a clump of trees on a 
bank sloping down to the river; thither 
he now went and reclined on the green 
sward beneath them and, after a draught 
from his flask, lighted the inevitable 
meerschaum and sought solace in its 
soothing fumes; while resting his head 
against a tree, he gazed abstractedly at 
the current hurrying onwards beneath. 

Thus idly weaving chaplets of fancy, 
Willard O'Neill sank into a deep slumber, 
the circling kingfisher went by unheeded, 
while the many tinted waters swept peace- 
fully along. 

Nothing broke the solitude of that 
calm scene, well indeed might its tran- 
quility soothe one suffering from the 
w^oiid's cares and deceits. 

Suddenly, crash! crash! came Willard 
O'Neill through every obstacle on the 
bank, down which he was falling; over 
he went, vainly clutching at anything 
within reach. 

The speed of his descent was so great 
that ere reaching the bottom, some slight 
projection, which he struck against acted 



as a lever and caused him to fall a con- 
siderable distance into the river. 

He sank, but rose to the surface im- 
mediately, struggling in vain against the 
strong current, till throwing up his arms, 
he again disappeared. 

Rising for the third time the drowning 
man beheld a dark object bounding down 
the bank; his fixed eyes feebly saw, though 
his ears no longer heard, and he knew 
it was a black retriever that had come 
to his rescue. Jumping in and swimm- 
ing with the tide the brave animal soon 
reached him and as he sank once more, 
instinctively dived and again rose, drawing 
the lifeless form of Willard to the sur- 
face; but great as seemed the dog's strength 
he could not of course drag the body 
ashore, nor even support it long. 

Still the gallant creature struggled 
with the weight, holding with a firm grip 
to the collar of poor Willard's coat, but 
the current was irresistible and the odds 
against canine valour, were deadly. 

"I'm coming. Nelson! dont let go," 
cried a female voice in a high pitch of 



excitement; the faithful animal showed 
the white of its eye in an attempt to 
look round, but it never released that 
concentrated hold. 

Once, twice, and the cord with looped 
end thrown by Norah Leslie passed over 
the dog's neck, and both he and his life- 
less burden were draAvn safely to the 



orah Leslie, on her twentieth birthday, 
^S^ was the belle ideal of an Irish girl: 
alternately wilful, passionate, sensitive, 
and mercurial. 

Ireland is a land, whose people are 
ever in extremes of joy and sadness, po- 
verty and pride. If her sons err by 
reason of their impetuosity of spirit, are 
they not courteous and generous, warm- 
hearted and hospitable? while what nation 
can transcend the fair daughters of Erin 
for modesty and comeliness? 

Some of my happiest days were passed 
in that country, which too often has been 
made the shuttlecock betwixt contending 

Attempting a paraphrase, I may say. 
What Nature has joined, let no man put 
asunder, and, regarding Ireland, let me 
express a hope that one day full justice 
may be done to her in the agreement 
of all parties. 

Norah Leslie was above medium 
height, straight and supple, with flashing- 
dark eyes lighting up her pale, chiselled 
face, whose expression changed with every 
passing incident: she was full of life, posess- 
ing that bright temperament, which looks 
upon existence from the sunniest side. 

She came of ancient lineage, claiming 
kinship with some of the oldest county 
families: but she seldom cared to visit 
her cousins far or near. Her grand- 
father had dissipated a large inheri- 
tance, leaving little for his son. Nor ah' s 
father, beyond files of unpaid bills, and 
some contingent reversions, which he had 
no power to dispose of: to this apocry- 
phal patrimony Norah's parent succeeded, 
but did not long survive: he died the 
victim of consumption, leaving behind 
him a young widow. 



Norah was a posthumous child, and 
the mother soon followed her husband 
to an early grave. Whereupon a maiden 
aunt of her father adopted the little one, 
who, as she developed into girlhood; be- 
came aware of her straitened circum- 
stances: but girl or woman, Norah never 
gave the future a thought. 

"I know I am poor" she soliloquised, 
"yet, what need I care? Every one is a 
pensioner on Providence in more or less 
degree, and surely the world is wide 
enough for another unintentional mendi- 

Her constant friend and companion 
Nelson, was a noble specimen of the 
canine race: being a black retriever, 
big, strong, and of almost human in- 
telligence: the sagacious animal seemed 
almost to anticipate his young mistress's 
every wish, and so wise indeed was he, 
that it was difficult to tell, in this in- 
stance where instinct ended and reason 

Norah performed many a distant 
journey or took long evening walks. 


trusting entirely to faithful Nelson's guar- 
dianship: and her favourite haunt was 
the river, whose serpentine course she 
knew full well, mile after mile, and whose 
most perilous rocks and channels she had 
often explored; in fact her hahits and 
nature partook more of masculine cou- 
rage than of feminine timidity. 

I have already described how Norah 
Leslie drew Willard O'Neill from the 
swift river. 

Her cries soon attracted the attention 
ot some men working in a field hard by, 
and their primitive attempts at restoring 
animation to the insensible Willard, meet- 
ing with success, the Hfe- blood again 
coursed through his veins, so they carried 
him to the residence of Miss LesHe, 
Nor ah' s aunt, it being the only house in 
the neighbourhood. 

Nursed with solicitous care by Miss 
Leslie and her niece, Willard's strong 
constitution soon asserted itself: and he 
felt sufficiently recovered on the following 
day, to descend to the dining-room, where 
his kind hostesses waited to receive him. 


"How can I ever requite the kindness 
you have shown me, a stranger." said he 
to the elder gentlewoman, then turning 
to Norah "or you for sa\4ng my life?" 
Miss Leslie shook his offered hand, but 
Norah remarked with a smile: "It was 
not wise to go into the river if you 
couldn't swim." 

He blushed and answered: "I rolled 
off the bank while asleep, I cannot swun." 

"Then you were very foolish to have 
done the one without knowing the other" 
said Norah, taking up a book as though 
about to begin reading. 

"Tut-tut," said her Aunt, "don't speak 
like that; my niece is wilful" she added 
"but you must not mind her." 

Willard O'Neill was as much fasci- 
nated by the girl's original style and 
manner, as charmed by her courage; 
never before had he met a being so 
unconventional: prettier women indeed 
he had known, but this wayward untu- 
tored nymph riveted his soul: the more 
so, as she seemed utterly heedless of him 
and all else beside her book. 


Her aunt was busy arranging flowers: 
suddenly Norah, looking up from her 
book, said: "AVhat caused you to fall?" 

"I don't know. I felt tired, and went 
to sleep. My only recollection of what 
followed, is seeing" — "You fell asleep 
near the edge" she interrupted. "Yes I 
was fishing and — " "But," said she 
"you had no rod." 

"My hat and it are on the bank." 

Crossing the room, and opening the 
window, the young girl called: "Nelson! 
Nelson!" The dog immediately came to 
her side, and addressing him as though 
he were a human creature, she said: "Go, 
Nelson, to the river-bank and bring back 
this gentleman's hat." 

The dog started off obediently and 
Norah, turning to Willard, said: 

"Do not think anything of my pulling 
you out of the water: Nelson deserves far 
more credit than I do: the way from 
here to your station is a short one and 
I shall be pleased to guide you." 

Some courtesies then ensued between 
Miss Leslie and her grateful guest, and 

as he followed Norah from the house, 
the old dame's last words were. 

"My niece is wilful and impatient of 

Presently Nelson met them carrying 
Willard's hat, which had remained under 
the tree, where his sleep had been broken 
by so rude an awakening; and it was 
agreed they should visit the spot and 
recover the fishing rod. 

Evening shadows lay upon the river 
and rolling mists floated up, shrouding in 
leaden hued folds the banks, and the 
fields beyond. 

"This is the place where I first saw 
you," said Norah halting, after they had 
proceeded some distance. "I shall never 
forget it, never!" replied Willard earnestly. 

"Learn to swim, and you soon will," 
she playfully answerd. Then directing 
Nelson to search for the fishing rod, she 
seemed to become oblivious of Willard's 
presence, while he intently regarded her. 

Nelson's exertions were promptly re- 
warded by his discovery of the rod, hidden 
among the brushwood, and Norah turned 


to take leave of Willard, saying: "Yonder 
lies the nearest way to the station. Good 
evening." Her self-possession was almost 
galling, however, controlling himself, 
Willard said earnestly: 

"May I be permitted to return again, 
and to thank my deliverer?" 

"You place too high an estimate on a 
slight service" said she, lightly, as she 
adjusted her scarf. 

"Oh! say, that I may come back" — 
but here she interrupted him, quietly 
remarking: "My aunt is nearly always 
at home, if you like to call upon her." 

"But," he urged, "shall I find you 

"Never again." 

"You are forsaking this place," he 
asked in pained surprise. "Yes, to-morrow 
I bid it and my aunt farewell," she answer- 
ed in a low tone, "Good bye, forget me." 

Her sylph-like form disappeared into 
the night leaving him standing fixed, 
alone ! 




^n the night of Catherine Hayes's first 
appearance at the Theatre Royal, 
DubHn, it happened that I sat "in 

I had jnst concluded a most suc- 
cessful engagement there: and was due 
in the south the following morning; my 
luggage had been dispatched, so hav- 
ing some little time to call my own, I 
dined late, and in company with some 
friends, occupied a box in the famous 
old theatre. 

On this, an operatic night, with their 
deservedly celebrated countrywoman, Ca- 
therine Hayes, making her first appearance 


as "Lucia", after her marked successes 
on the Continent, it was small wonder 
that the house should be crammed from 
floor to ceiling. 

The gods held high revel in the top 
gallery, surpassing themselves in the 
number and brilliancy of witty sallies 
of the proverbial kind — or shall I say 
unkind — description which rarely failed 
to miss their intencied aim. 

Signor Paglieri, the primo tenore did 
not seem to give any satisfaction to the 
usually good natured audience, and the 
Olympian deities were especially irate: 
while the remarks made by them, concern- 
ing the unhappy singer, were couched in 
the most uncomplimentary vein. 

"Hold your tongue!" quoth one of 
the immortals (who was painfully close 
to the ceiling), after a somewhat personal 
joke had been aimed at Paglieri by a 
brother god, "don't interrupt Mr. Leary, 
he is looking for the key." 

"Here's my latch-key, Sir," volun- 
teered an obliging deity; "I'll lend him 
a whole bunch," vouchsafed a third. 

''Man alive," roared a fourth with 
stentorian lungs, "Paddy Leary's not 
singing: it's the gas!" Yells of laughter 
greeted this sally; and then there was a 
comparative lull, until "Edgardo" again 
attempted to sing; but no sooner had he 
commenced the well known "Sulla tomha,'" 
than Hibernian politeness declared itself 
in the following suggestion: 

"Misther Leary! the next coach leaves 
in half an hour. Are ye ready?" 

"He wants a hearse, not a coach," 
growled another god in a sepulchral voice, 
"Be aisy, ye divils: the gentleman wants a 
rehearsal; and faith thin he wont be worth 
his funeral expinses," reverberated through 
the house in tones, that shook the roof 
and brought roars of laughter; later on 
he was hissed to such an extent, that the 
performance could not proceed. With 
such an Edgardo it was impossible; and 
the manager proposed to have recourse 
to the services, of a tenor, named Damcke, 
when suddenly the penetrating glance of 
an intelligent amateur discovered myself 
seated at the back of a box with Miss 


Lucombe and Mr. Whitwortli, the baritone. 
It soon became generally known that 
we were in the theatre; and what then 
took place, was described as follows, by 
the Dublin correspondent of the Times: — 

"There were loud cries for 'Reeves! 
Keeves!' and a general wish manifested, 
that he should fill the character sustained 
by him with such eclat during his engage- 

"Mr. Calcraft came forward and said, 
that he found the audience were not 
satisfied with the singing of the gentle- 
man, who had appeared before them, 
(cries of 'Reeves'), and it was only 
justice to the gentleman to state, that 
he had undertaken the character very 
unexpectedly, and at very short notice. 
However, Herr Damcke, who had also 
been engaged, would be prepared to 
appear in the other acts, and the opera 
would be resumed as soon as it would 
be possible. 

"There were here loud and repeated 
cheers and calls for 'Reeves!' 

"Mr. Calcraft, when the storm had 


partly subsided, said that he had no 
control over Mr. Reeves; the engagement 
with him had terminated, and he was 
there that evening as a private gentleman. 

"The excitement here became very 
great; and, 

"Mr. Calcraft then added, that Mr. 
Reeves, although asked, had declined to 
sing upon this sudden emergency (cheers 
and renewed confusion). 

"Mr. E-eeves, addressing the house 
from the private box, said he thought 
it but right to defend himself from the 
observations which had just been made 
by the manager. 

"These few words added to the ex- 
citement already prevailing, and con- 
tinued cheering followed. 

"Mr. Calcraft, who made several at- 
tempts to be heard, again mentioned that 
he had no control over Mr. Reeves, 
whose engagement had terminated ('Hear' 
and confusion). 

"Mi\ Reeves then said, with emphasis, 
that if the public desired it, he would 


sing for them, but certainly not to oblige 
Mr. Calcraft. 

"Mr. Calcraft then observed, that Mr. 
Reeves might decline to sing to oblige 
him, but he was glad to find that he 
consented to sing, particularly as it was 
to support their gifted and talented young 
countrywoman (cheers). 

"If the theatre presented a novel 
appearance during these proceedings, the 
public fervour seemed to increase with 
each new incident; and Mr. Calcraft 
having retired from the stage, Mr. Reeves 
descended from his box in order to dress 
for the part thus suddenly assumed. Se- 
veral minor incidents occurred, one being 
the substitution of Mr. Lavenu for Mr. 
Benedict as conductor. 

"When the curtain rose, Miss Hayes 
and Mr. Reeves appeared to go through 
again a portion of the first act; and 
from the want of a previous rehearsal, 
there was a momentary hesitation; but 
this ceased as quickly, and the opera, 
so far as relates to the leading parts, 
was rendered with great success. The 


incidents, however, connected with this 
debut of the 'prima donna were so peculiar 
and annoying, and so calculated to dis- 
compose even the most self-possessed 
person, that we do not mean to give 
any detailed notice of the opera, or of 
the singing of Miss Hayes. It was mani- 
fest that until the last act she had not 
become altogether reassured; but the 
maniac song she rendered with a charm- 
ing expression and finish; and the clear, 
ringing, soprano notes, in the highest 
register of her voice, told with fine 
effect. She was called for at the end 
of each act, as was also Mr. Reeves. 
The latter in that which ought to be 
one of his most favourite characters, fully 
sustained his deserved reputation. 

"After the opera Mr. Calcraft came 
forward, and for a short time could not 
obtain a hearing. When silence was 
restored, he commenced by saying that 
he thought no misconception should go 
abroad in reference to the words of Mr. 
Reeves, that he should sing to oblige 
the public, but not to oblige the manager. 


It might be conceived from this ex- 
pression that there was some secret 
difference — some subject matter of com- 
plaint which had not been explained. 

"Mr. Reeves at this juncture, and 
dressed in his stage costume, came for- 
ward and took his place near Mr. Cal- 
craft, regarding him very fixedly as he 
addressed the audience. 

"Mr. Calcraft proceeded to observe, 
that to remove any erroneous opinions 
that might go abroad, it was necessary 
to state that he had fulfilled his engage- 
ment with Mr. Reeves, and that he had 
paid him what had been stipulated. 
There had been delays in the production 
of an opera — delays for which neither 
he nor Mr. Reeves were answerable, 
although the result had been to take 
money from the pocket of the manager. 
So far from any unkindly feeling exist- 
ing, he had engaged with Mr. Sims 
Reeves to sing, after his return from 
provincial engagements, the week before 
Christmas; and he was therefore m^uch 
surprised to find that gentleman so 


emphatically declaring that he would be 
quite willing to oblige the audience, but 
certainly not the manager. 

"A voice from the gallery, 'Make it 
up, both of you' (cheers and laughter). 

"Mr. Reeves observed that he had 
nothing to make up; but as a matter of 
justice to himself, it was right the public 
should be fully apprised of what had 
occurred. He had come to the theatre 
that evening as a private individual; 
and when the curtain fell, and the per- 
formances had abruptly stopped, he was 
asked by a gentleman who was con- 
cerned in the management of the present 
engagement, together with Mr. Calcraft, 
to sing in the opera ('Hear'). He stated 
in reply that the call was quite unex- 
pected, and that he had but just come 
from dinner, and that he had no dress 
ready, and upon declining to appear, 
the person who had waited on him, said 
he considered his conduct was ungentle- 
manlike. This of course incensed, him, 
and when Mr. Calcraft afterwards spoke 
to him his manner seemed much excited, 


and not calculated to remove the im- 
pression already made. 

"Mr. Calcraft here interposed, and, 
addressing the conductor, observed that 
Mr. Lavenu was present on the occasion, 
and he appealed to him to say if his 
manner was excited. 

"The conductor, more skilled in chords 
than discords, although called for by the 
house, did not respond to the appeal. 

"Mr. Calcraft added, that he felt 
happy at the opera having terminated, 
and obliged to Mr. Reeves for singing 
in it; and he bore no animosity to that 
gentleman for what had occurred. Mr. 
Calcraft then extended his hand to Mr. 
Reeves, which the other took, and there 
were repeated cheers, at this termination 
ot Avhat at one time seemed a very de- 
cided difference. 

"Some private conversation then took 
place between these persons, after which 
Mr. Reeves bowed and retired." 

Throughout my career I have ever 
been reticent and thoughtful; unthinking- 
men achieve no lasting success: they 

usually strive to emulate the sky aspir- 
ing rocket and like it return ignomi- 
niously to the mundane level. 

During "waits" behind the scenes it 
has been my wont to rest, or walk to 
and fro alone; but upon this particular 
night, an old friend whom I had not met 
for years, suddenly' came forward; our 
greetings mutuall}^ warm were followed 
on the part of my friend, by the intro- 
duction of a young man who accompa- 
nied him. My new acquaintance seemed 
full of anecdotes and humour. I felt 
reluctant almost to leave him, when 
my call came, and after singing m}' 
solo and responding to a hearty encore, 
I again sought the society of my two 

So the waits passed in agreeable fa- 
shion and my request that they would 
both join me at supper was promptly 
accepted. Wearied with the unexpected 
excitement, I hurried towards the carriage 
and entered it with my friends, but 
simultaneously with taking our seats, 
arose the cry "A woman run over." 


I looked out of the window and saw 
two policemen lifting a girl into a cab, 
who was apparently in an insensible 
condition. Her pale delicate face was 
whiter than the moonlight, that shone 
down upon it: my new friend saw her 
also! with a cry he sprang out of the 
carriage and rushing over to the men, 
demanded "Where are you taking her to?" 

"Mercer's Hospital, Sir," one of them 
replied. "Make room for me then: I am 
going with her" said the young man 

"Are you her husband?" asked the 
other officer dubiously. 

"She is well known to me and once 
saved my life: is not that enough" and 
entering the vehicle he tenderly support- 
ed its insensible occupant. His prompt 
manner and decided tone brooked no 
denial, and the policeman closing the 
door said "Drive on, jarvey." As the 
cab rattled away, I turned perplexedly 
to our mutual friend asking "Who is the 
lady?" "I don't know," he said, "any 
more than yourself." "And although you 


introduced him, yet, I can't remember 
the young man's name," was my next 

"His name," said my friend, "is Willard 




^'S Tfi-T usli. child, why do you start, it is 
(ii^-^ only the wind whistling, or a wild 
bird shrieking on the moors! The waning 
moon sinks down the sky: in three hours 
more it will be dawn." 

"And this is Christmas Eve! alas! what 
is Christmas to me, but a memory of 
tears? Misfortune I have winnoAved and 
sifted, till no grain of hope or comfort 
remains. It seems so short a time since 
I was a buoyant, contented girl, and now 
I am a deserted wife, a mother, with a 
fatherless child." 

"Oh, Willard! Willard! why is this? I 
think not of myself, but only of our 

boy; nor do I utter reproaches; 3'ou were 
a good husband until evil companions lur- 
ed you to the gambling table, and made 
existence one fathomless woe for me!" 

"They told you at the hospital I might 
live for years if nurtured and cared for. 
Have I been cared for?" she continued sur- 
veying with a wan smile the faded black 
dress that hung upon her shrunken form, 
"No, I have had nothing but the pittance 
I might earn, when my pen, guided by 
a wearied brain, traced imagery of sad 
thought, for the thoughtless crowd to 
praise or condemn as digestion dictated. 

"Within two short years I have been 
left a deserted beggar; all is gone, with 
you. O weak, selfish Willard O'Neill." 

"Why does he forget his child," she 
murmured, bending over the sleeping in- 
fant. "I sought him while hope remained 
and I had a semblance of my former self. 
Alas, strength could bear no more and 
none would now recognise the once gay 
Norah Leslie!" 

"Something tells me, my end is fast 
approaching; come to me, WiHard, if 

only that I may once again think, you 
are mine: the past will soon be buried 
beyond recall and I will never reproach 
you, though all the world may. "Come 
to me, come," and rising she paused as 
though listening: but silence reigned, the 
silence of desolation: the low sigh of the 
child in his sleep, or a moan from their 
faithful dog alone made any sound in 
that sad chamber. 

Listlessly, she moved towards the 
window, and gazed seawards. 

Leaden clouds went slowly past, as if 
loth to make way for the coming morn. 
"It must be," she murmured aloud, 
"Heaven decrees that we shall go. Help 
us. Father above, to reach my parents 
grave, and the morrow, that brings peace 
and good- will to earth, shall bring my 
wearied spirit to thee. Some of my kin 
Avill give shelter to this poor babe, when 
I no longer live to offend their pride." 

"Come, darling," she said, softly lift- 
ing the sleeping child, and dressing it in 
its few articles of clothing, "this was a 
poor home for you, but we were not so 


unhappy, while I had power to earn 
bread; alas! it will be our last home 
together, my little Willard," and wrapp- 
ing herself in a worn cloak, with the 
child in her arms she went forth into 
the night. 

Nelson followed with slow step and 
drooping head, for time and misery had 
sorely changed the ever faithful creature; 
light flakes of snow fell softly, while 
the wind swept by in sullen gusts. 

As sailors put it, there was a "dirty" 
look about the weather, presaging a white 
Christmas, and among the few they met 
on the road, there were none who be- 
stowed a thought on that poorl}^ clad 
mother and child. 

At length Norah O'Neil reached the 
office, from which the early coach started 
for the town she hoped to reach ere the 
rest she so longed for came to her. "At 
what time does the coach leave, please?" 
she enquired of the comfortable clerk in 

"In half an hour, ma'am," said he, 
"and there is one inside place vacant." 


"I cannot afford to travel inside," was 
the sad response, "Good God, ma'am, 
said the clerk, you'll be frozen," and then 
added kindly as she paid the last money 
she had for an outside place, "come 
and sit in here by the fire, till the coach 
starts and get all the warmth you can." 

She seated herself gratefully and en- 
joyed the genial glow, until the vehicle 
was ready to start, which it did with its 
usual mirthful accompaniments, and they 
rattled along at a brisk pace through 
the country now whitening under a thick 
mantle of snow. 

The sympathetic guard kindly offered 
some brandy to his only outside fare, 
but her courteous refusal and bearing, 
awakened a feeling of manly compassion 
in his honest heart, and he watched her 
from time to time with anxiety: mean- 
while the pitiless snow fell in heavy 

Presently, Nor ah O'Neill heard him 
apparently holding a warm argument 
with some one beneath. "I'll take the 
responsibility," he said ascending to where 


she was seated, then the coach stopped, 
and after some explanation, and further 
argument the half frozen mother, and 
child enjoyed the comparative comfort 
of the vacant seat inside. 

What a blessed oasis of refuge from 
the white desert around: in many kind 
ways the other passengers interested 
themselves in the forlorn young woman 
and her infant, adding what they could 
spare to make them comfortable. There 
was an exception to this rule however in 
the persons of two ladies who sat opposite, 
and contemptuously withdrew their hand- 
some clothes from contact with the in- 
truders regarding them from time to time 
with an expression of distaste. 

Nelson jogged along beside the coach, 
an occasional scrap of food being thrown 
to him from the inside, an attention 
he highly appreciated, and towards the 
close of that Christmas eve, the vehicle 
reached the end of its journey. As 
her friend, the guard, assisted Norah 
O'Neill to descend she told him her des- 


"You can't get there by daylight," 
he said in amazement. 

"I must go on," she replad. 

"Is there no one to meet you, ma'am?" 

She looked on the ground, and made 
no reply. A handsome closed car just 
then rattled up to where the coach was 
standing and the considerate guard held 
an earnest conversation with the driver; 
but if this in any way concerned Norah, 
it produced no effect, as the mother and 
child went out into the street. 

Walking along, the snow-impeded path 
became very difficult; she struggled on 
bravely, despite her weariness and weak- 
ness, but soon found it impossible to 
proceed. Dead beat, she rested at the 
corner of the road, while evening dark- 
ened into night. 

The inside car, which she had noticed 
in the coach-yard, now overtook her, and 
with an effort she rose and crossed to 
enquire her way of the driver. 

Ere he could answer her, one of 
the young overdressed females who had 
treated Norah so contemptuously in the 

coach, thrust her head out of the win- 
dow, saying in a peremptory tone: "Drive 
home quickly, Charles, and let her find 
her way," and the mother and child, 
who had no home, were soon left far 

Again the snow fell heavily, and in 
the distance the flickering lights from 
scattered cabins could be seen here and 
there; seated upon a stone the outcast 
leaned over her child, exhausted, and for 
awhile she slept. Nelson, constant as 
misfortune, lay at their feet. 

As she slumbered, a dream of her 
3^outh passed before her; the bright 
happy days previous to meeting with 
Willard, and the vision brought her 
momentary peace. 

Not far from where she rested, rose 
a comfortable house, and in a well lit 
room, before a cheerful fire, its master 
sat reading a Christmas story with great 
enjoyment, while the snow and wind held 
high carnival outside. 

Suddenly the barking dogs startled 
him, "What's up," said he, lifting his 



eyes as lie heard a feeble knock at the 
outer door. 

It was repeated, and rising from 
chair with a testy growl; passing out 
into the hall and opening the door, he 
was assailed by snow and wind; as he 
looked forth into the darkness, a woman 
confronted him. 

"Give shelter to my child," she pit- 
eously entreated, "give us shelter for the 
love of Heaven!" 

"Go away! How dare you" — Before 
this sentence could be completed, a sud- 
den inroad of snow caused him to bang 
the door, while he muttered "If you don't 
go, I'll set the dogs at you." 

Just then a peal of joybells from afar, 
rang out heralding the Christmas morn. 

Many of our hasty actions come back 
to reproach us, and that old man's sleep 
was conscience -haunted, and he started 
uneasily now and then. 

In one of those restless intervals, it 
seemed to him as though the room were 
suddenly filled with light. "Fire, fire!" 


he cried, springing from the bed in alarm. 
Immediately his son entered, saying: "Tlie 
fire is not here, it is the barn." 

They threw on some clothes, and 
rushed out, followed by the old man's 

Together they reached the outlniild- 
ings, and what a strange sight contronted 

High up, through the open roof of 
the lofty barn, shone a great star of 
dazzling brilliancy, which seemed to 
flood the place with light. 

Immediately beneath it, lay on some 
straw, a woman and child, while close 
beside, a famished dog watched wearily, 
said one of the young women angrily: 
"It is the wretched creature, who travelled 
with us in the coach yestesday." 

The old man remained in the door- 
way, but his son went forward; at whose 
approach the dog rose slowly and came 
to meet him with a dejected wag of 
his tail. "Great Heaven" exclaimed the 
younger man, "they are" — 


"Who?" cried the old man and hi.s 
davighters with one voice. 

"My wife and child! and oh, my 
God — both are dead!" 

Such was the denouement of a most 
sad experience in my life. 



morning's grey mists were lifting from 
the hill tops as I began my ascent 
to the monastery of Monnt Sorrow; and 
from the valley below, clouds of pale 
vapour came rolling up, dissolving, ere 
they reached the summit of the conelike 
mountains. Often did I pause, contem- 
plating peaceful nature in this elysium of 

Embayed at my feet lay the little 
town, whose inhabitants chiefly depended 
on the monastery for support, corporal 
and spiritual; the soil was originally 
sterile and unproductive, but man's in- 
dustry here would not be baulked, and 


large tracts of the surrounding countr}^ 
had been assiduously cultivated. Every- 
where appeared healthy crops, promising 
a good harvest, while droves of sheep 
and cattle browsed on the pasture lands. 

The monastery was self-supporting, 
and its ascetic rules denied to the com- 
munity the use of animal food, except in 
case of illness, while silence was rigidly 
imposed; the brotherhood wore sandals, 
and the coarsest serge habits; sleeping 
at night on straw pallets in stone cells, 
without fire or candle. 

Kt midnight a bell summoned them 
to arise for prayers in the chapel; six 
hours later, it pealed forth the Angelus 
to an awakening land. 

Never were the gates of Mount Sorrow 
closed to the weary wanderer from the 
outside world; and the stranger, who ever 
found a kindly welcome, came and went 

The long-bearded monks waited upon 
him with assiduous hospitality, and he 
ate, drank or slept at his own will and 
pleasure, without any charge whatever; 


save that a box stood at the entrance door 
to receive the donations of those, disposed 
to give ahns on leaving the monastery. 
In the guest-honse might be found all 
the comforts of daily life, and certain 
of the brothers were deputed in turn to 
act as guide and entertainer of the 

All this I had heard and more, ere 
my visit to Mount Sorrow for notwith- 
standing the secluded situation the fame 
of its mitred Abbot had spread far and 
wide; he was, himself, the founder of the 
community, and had built the monas- 
tery, yet none, at the tune of his first 
acquiring possession of the land, knew 
who he was or whence he came. 

It was said, though old, he was of 
giant frame and Herculean strength, with 
a bearing erect and dignified; he scarcely 
ever conversed even with those holding 
highest rank in the brotherhood, most 
of his communications with them being 
carried on in writing. 

The brethren slept sometimes, he, ap- 
parently, never; and he was often met by 


travellers wandering like a spectre over the 
mountains, regardless of wind or weather. 
The dwellers in the neighbourhood spoke 
of him with mysterious awe; the monks 
under his rule regarded him with loving 
veneration mingled with fear. 

Such was the man, and such the 
place I had come a long distance in 
hopes of beholding. 

As I neared the line of granite build- 
ings, I passed groups of monks engaged 
in agricultural labour or other industrial 
occupation; but they all seemed uncon- 
scious of my approach; the same uncon- 
cern was manifested till I arrived at the 
great gate and rung the strangers' bell, 
when a grave, middle-aged brother ap- 
peared and acceded with kindly readiness 
to my request to be shown over the 

Under his guidance I explored all 
those parts of the building, shown to 
strangers, and he entered with painstak- 
ing minutiae into each detail of the daily 
life of the community and its rigid rules, 
he seemed a well-read, intelligent man, 


with some knowledge of the world, and 
his conversation threw a pleasant light 
on what had always seemed to me, as 
the austere gloom of monastic life; but 
my remarks concerning passing events 
in the external world did not seem to 
excite any curiosity or even interest in 
his mind. 

When he had shown me the various 
objects of note, he gave me a courteous 
invitation, which I accepted, to a repast 
later on, and left me to wander as I 
pleased, through the beautifully kept 

I explored them diligently; they were 
of great extent, and I wished to see 
every thing I could during the absence 
of my guide, as I knew it would be 
only for a short time, so I followed the 
windings of the broad path^^•ay meditat- 
ing on all I had seen and heard. 

Ere long I found myself brought to a 
standstill in a thickly wooded plantation, 
which formed, as it were, a kind of cul 
de sac: the narrow, closely intersected 
paths, seemed to be without an outlet; 


I could see no sign of the monastery 
towers, and I began to grow anxious 
concerning the means of escape from 
this maze. 

Suddenly, I heard close at hand, a 
deep moan, as of some human creature 
in distress; another, and another followed 
at short intervals, sounding as though 
they rose almost from beneath where 
I stood. I strove to find the place whence 
they proceeded, but the same thick foliage 
grew everywhere, and I could perceive 
no break. 

Presently, I heard these words uttered 
in a tone of anguish: "M}^ life is drawing 
to its end; out of the depths have I cried, 
but my cry is still unheard." 

Stooping and searching among the 
dense undergrowth, I discovered at 
length, a steep declivity; creeping down 
it, I found a mossgrown pathway, leading 
apparently under-ground, and following- 
it, I came silently to an arched dooi", 
standing partly open. 

From this aperture issued again the 
heartbroken voice saying: "Loss is gain, 


and gaiu is loss; but for me at thy death 
the world became a wilderness. 01 1 
unforgotten" — the, voice ceased while 
with one hurried glance into that grim, 
dark chamber, I turned and crept noise- 
lessly away, for there, I knew instinctively, 
knelt the Abbot of Mount Sorrow. 

But iny curiosity could not be allayed, 
and ultimately I learned the history of 
this strange being as follows: 

The handsomest aide de camp at one 
time on the staff of the Marquis of Douro 
-was Jack Gordon, a young lieutenant. 

The eldest son of a Scotch Presby- 
terian minister, he had inherited little 
property from his father, and still less 
of his religious views; entering the arm}', 
he soon became the daredevil of his 
regiment, and none excelled him in 
deeds of bravery — or of generosity, his 
small means notwithstanding. 

So brilliant and promising an officer 
was not likely to escape the notice of 
the sapient "Iron Duke," indeed it was 
said, that he had conceived an affection 
for Jack, who thus became an object 


of much envy and jealousy with the 
professional wire pullers. 

The story of the Peninsular War is 
a record of heroism, and among the 
many gallant deeds, that brighten its 
pages, not a few were achieved by this 
dashing subaltern. 

Some of Jack's escapades were re- 
markable for their boldness and originality, 
and one of these was his falling madly in 
love Avith a Princess of the Poyal Family 
of Spain, who, strange to say, requited 
his passion with southern vehemence, and 
they were secretly married; but this mid- 
summer madness brought, as may be 
supposed, its train of attendant evils. 
Their differing religious creeds formed, if 
possible, a greater social barrier, than 
their disparity of rank, and the conse- 
quent loss of caste to the Princess; thus 
she w^as compelled to fly from her sunny 
native shores. 

Lord Wellington connived at the in- 
evitable retirement of the young aide-de- 
camp, who, owing to his influence, was 
permitted to sell out; an act most unusual 


in time of war; and he left Spain witli 
his royal bride. 

Straitened in resources, and "bored 
by want of congenial occupation", the 
restless vivacity of Jack Gordon's dis- 
position soon asserted itself; true at heart, 
he would under favourable circumstances 
have made a fairly good husband, but 
as it was, the glamour of love ere long 
departed, and he grew cold and careless. 
On the other hand, his fiery Spanish wife 
conscious of the many sacrifices she had 
made for him, felt this conduct deeply; 
and in a moment of jealous passion, fired 
a pistol at her lord. He was unharmed 
but left her, and swore never to look 
upon her face again. 

She returned to her native land, 
and entering the convent of Madonna 
del Loretto, died there, after a few 
sorrowful years had passed; he enlisted 
as a private, in a regiment ordered to 
India; here his dauntless courage dis- 
tinguished him as of yore, and his deeds 
and story becoming known, he rose 
rapidly from the ranks. 


Colonel John Gordon's name filled a 
bright page in military annals; but with 
fame and riches came also remorse. The 
blame of his deserted wife's blighted 
existence lay heavy upon his soul; love 
for the fair Spanish woman, who had 
sacrificed all for him, came back to his 
heart with renewed strength, and the 
subsequent announcement of her death 
in the Convent of Loretto proved a mad- 
dening blow; indeed it was said, that he 
was never afterwards quite sane. 

Arriving in England, crowned with 
laurels, and laden with wealth acquired 
in India, he became a leading lion in 
London society; the strange tales (true 
or false) told of him, heightened his many 
personal attractions; and idolized by all. 
Fortune seemed to have showered her 
choicest gifts on Colonel John Gordon. 

But his great sorrow abode with him 
deepening day by day; often did he 
meditate self-destruction, and could he 
have made sure of joining his wife by 
such means, he would not have hesitated 
a naoment; the fear of "something after 


death" alone restrained him, while his 
half distraught mind preyed on itself, 
and he plunged madly into the many 
dissipations that surrounded him. 

One night after losing heavily at 
the gambling table, he, in a moment of 
ungovernable rage, struck a brother- of- 
ficer; a duel followed as a matter of 
course. It took place in Epping Forest, 
and Col. Gordon slew his antagonist; 
stricken with remorse (for the dead soldier 
and he had loved each other like brothers) 
he returned with his second to town. As 
they passed over London Bridge in the 
early morning, a man sprang from the 
parapet into the river belo^v; without 
an instant's hesitation Gordon plunged 
after him. 

Whether his motive was self-destruction 
or rescue, none could tell; only one body 
Avas recovered, that of the stranger, but 
Society never saw its idol again, and 
chanted his requiem with paeans of adu- 

The while a pale, grief-stricken woman 
nursed him through a raging fever, watch- 


ing by his coiicli, night and day; her 
efforts were rewarded with success, and 
he came back to Hfe, but his soul was 
changed and purified within him. 

That woman was the widow of the 
man he had slain: the friend who had 
loved him; therefore she forgave and 
tended him. 

On his recover}^ he said: "I too am 
dead to the world; yet for his sake I will 
Uve for repentance and atonement." 

Colonel Gordon built the monastery, 
and l^ecame the first Abbot of Mount 
Sorrow ! 






JiT/gater on m 1849 1 appeared for the 
'^^ first time in Italian Opera at Co vent 
Garden ; the first part I undertook in this 
new engagement being that of Elvino in 
"La Sonnambula" with Madame Persiani 
as Amina. 

The success of "La Sonnambula" has 
been great everywhere; but nowhere so 
marked as in England, where it has been 
performed in English and in Italian offcener 
than any two, or perhaps three operas; 
while probably no songs, certainly no 
songs by a foreign composer, were ever 
sold in such large numbers as the tenor's 
great solo: "All is Lost,"' or the final 



air for the piDia donna. The beauties of 
"La Sonnaiubnla," so full of pure melody 
and of emotional music of the most simple 
and touching kind, can be appreciated 
by everyone: by the most learned mu- 
sician and the most untutored amateur — or 
rather, let me say, by any play- goer, 
who, not having been born deaf to the 
voice of music, hears an opera for the 
first time in his life. 

The success of "La Sonnambula," full 
as the opera is of beautiful music, must 
be attributed in a great measure to the 
merit of the libretto, which is not only 
one of the most interesting and touching, 
l)ut is also one of the best suited for 
musical illustration in the whole repertory 
of libretti. To Eugene Scribe belongs 
the merit of having invented the charm- 
ing story on which Romani's libretto is 
based; and the verses of this distinguished 
lyric poet could not but exercise a con- 
siderable influence upon Bellini. The 
enthusiastic Dr. T. L. Phipson, in his 
interesting pamphlet on "Bellini, and the 
Opera of La Sonnambula," lays stress 


upon our indebtedness to Romani for the 
exquisite music which his harmonious 
and expressive words called forth from 
Bellini; and it is indeed true that in "La 
Sonnambula" the words and the music 
are so intimately blended, so extremely 
suitable the one to the other, even in 
the most unimportant passages, that it 
is quite impossible to translate this opera 
into any other language without depriv- 
ing both words and music of a consider- 
able portion of their charm. 

Happily I produced a great effect, 
singing the tenor air previously referred 
to, "Tutto e Sciolto," with its impassion- 
ed sequel, "Ah! perche non poss6 odiarti;" 
and here the Avords so expressive in the 
Italian are absolutely without expression 
— or, indeed, express what neither the 
composer nor the librettist intended — in 
the English version. I then gained greatly 
by playing the part of Elvino in the lan- 
guage of Romani, which alone could 
enable the singer to give with true accent 
the music of Bellini. "We are all fa- 
miliar," writes Dr. Phipson, "with the 



splendid outburst of feeling that occurs 
in the well-known tenor song of 'La 
Sonnambula,' on the words, 'Ah! perche 
non posso odiarti' (Ah! Why can I not 
hate thee), where there is such a magni- 
ficent swell upon the open A of the word 
'odiarti;' the word 'hate,' expressing a 
violent savage feeling, is most admirably 
rendered by a high and powerfully- 
sustained note, sung directly from the 
chest. This is given in the English as, 
'Still so Gently o'er me Stealing;' the 
word 'stealing,' equivalent here to 'stream- 
ing,' and preceded by the term 'gently,' 
demands, on the contrary, a soft flowing- 
note, which might be perfectly well taken 
in the falsetto; and this is very different 
from what the Italian composer intended. 
The French words are scarcely any better, 
'Que ne puis-je de mon ame,' though 
they have the advantage of giving the 
singer the open A for the high chest 

The part of Elvino was written for 
Rubini, and since Rubini's time almost 
every great tenor has tried to distinguish 


himself in it. Of late years, however, it 
has in a measure shared the fate of Ed- 
(jardo. Elvino has been eclipsed by Amina, 
as Edgardo is habitually outshone by Lucia. 
Next to Edgardo, Elvino has generally 
been considered my best impersonation 
in Italian Opera. 





>/ti'Owds thronged the Olympic to wit- 
ness the performance of Miss Stella 
L'Estrange, the celebrated tragedienne. 

Her reputation was phenomenal, and 
her portrait adorned the principal shop- 
windows: her acting was cast in a passio- 
nate mould which irresistibly moved her 
audiences; her face was expressive and 
strongly marked rather than handsome, 
while her style was distinguished by a 
restless energy which in a great degree 
accounted for her success. 

These reports reached me at different 
times and I resolved to visit the Olympic 
on the first opportunity. 


I did SO, and admired her acting 
greatly: though past her first youth, 
she had evidently been at one time re- 
markably beautiful. Her face seemed 
dimly familiar to me: I felt certain I 
had seen it before, but could not recollect 

It was announced that a newplay was in 
rehearsal of which Miss L' Estrange would 
create the chief role: on its production 
she achieved her greatest triumph: indeed 
she surpassed herself in this her latest 
effort: premiums on the prices of the 
seats were obtained easily by enterprising- 
speculators, all the best places being- 
booked far in advance, while everything, 
from a shirtbutton to a steam-engine, was 
christened after Stella. 

Yet amid all this triumph and adu- 
lation the actress herself remained wholly 
unmoved; and while invitations to the 
most distinguished receptions were sent 
her by hundreds, she declined them all, 
and, living- in strict retirement, was only 
to be seen on the stage; even there she 
was very reserved in her demeanour to- 


wards her fellow-performers, whether at 
rehearsal or behind the scenes, but this 
sphinx-like reticence seemed only to in- 
crease her popularity. 

One morning my old friend and 
neighbour Isidor Dapuis came to see 
me, to whom I observed "You are not 
looking well." 

"No, my dear fellow," he said, "My 
son Rudolph has upset me sorely." 

"Rudolph! what has he been doing?" 

"He has gone mad over Stella L'Est- 
range and I fear the consequences." 

"Miss L'Estrange," said I in surprise, 
"why she is, well, I can't say what age; 
and Rudolph is scarcely a man yet." 
"Nineteen last birthday," growled Dapuis. 

"But surely she gives him no encour- 

"I believe not, still it is impossible to 
reason with Rudolph." 

"Oh," I replied, "most boys begin with 
a passion for an actress, he will return 
to common sense by and bye." 

"Ah I" said my old French friend with 
a sigh: "Before I had reached his years 


I committed a similar folly, or worse." 
"Indeed," I exclaimed, in surprise. 

"Yes, you remember the premier 
danseuse Mdlle. St. Louin?" "Perfectly: 
why," I said suddenly, "it was St. Louin I 
thought of the first time I saw L' Estrange, 
and could not recall who it was that she 

"Oh, nonsense" replied Dapuis, "I am 
told that Stella L' Estrange is dark and 
sallow, Avhile St. Louin, as I remember 
her, was a pure blonde, bright-eyed and 
full of wit; and her dancing! the manner 
in which she seemed almost to float 
through the air made her more resemble 
a spirit than a w^oman." 

Here he grew so excited that I ex- 
pected he would execute a jpas seid on 
the spot, but he controlled himself and 
sat down. 

"And you fell in love with her," said 
I. "Yes, and what was worse, married 
her, under the same spell that fascinates 
Rudolph now; but Heaven forbid our 
cases should be parallel." 

"Is he Mdlle. St. Louin' s son theny" 


"No, I married a second time; my 
first wife was transported and I never 
saw her again." 

"Transported! you astonish me! what 

"The circumstances were by no means 
clear. My father and mother would not 
consent to our union, and you know that 
according to French law, the marriage 
of a minor is illegal unless solemnised 
with the consent of the parents. Gradually 
my affections were weaned from her. I 
thought it best to conciliate them or rather 
their money, and though my wife's letters 
to me were heartrending, I at length gave 
her up and for some time heard no more 
of her. 

"Suddenly she reappeared in public 
as Madame St. Louin Dapuis; that was a 
blow to the pride of my family and they 
resolved to avenge it. 

"About this period I was compelled to 
depart for the East, an appointment hav- 
ing been obtained for me there, and some 
months after, I received a letter from m}' 
father, in which he stated that my soi- 


disant wifo had been convicted of robbery 
and transported; a year later the news of 
her death in New-Caledonia reached me." 

"What robbery was she accnsed of?" 
"She was accused of stealing a valuable 
ring belonging to my father, an heirloom. 
Her defence was, that I had given it 
to her, but as I did not hear the par- 
ticulars of the story till long after her 
death, I cannot now tell if this were so, 
or not. I fear she was an innocent 
sufferer, but the influence brought to 
bear was too strong." 

"Have you formed no opinion upon 
the matter," I said feeling disgusted with 
the cold-blooded and cynical manner in 
which he spoke of his persecuted wife. 

"I believe she told the truth; how- 
ever I returned home, years later, marri- 
ed again, and she and her story were 

The brutal selfishness displayed in this 
narrative was an unpleasant revelation 
to me: I had held Dapuis in such diiferent 

In a few days again he called on me, 


accompanied by his son, to whom I 
pointed out the folly of i idulging an 
attachment for a woman, old enough to 
be his mother, and moreover, unapproa- 
chable even to those of her own age and 

"It is too late" said the father, "my 
son has asked her to marry him and she 
has accepted him." 

"What" I almost shouted. 

"It is true," he groaned "Rudolph also 
had that fatal ring, I told you of the 
other day, in his posession, and without 
my permission he has bestowed it upon 
her as a gage d' amour.''' 

"Let us go and call on Miss L' Estrange" 
I suggested; "I rather admire her both pub- 
licly and privately, and this acceptance 
of the addresses of a boy like Hudolph 
is so inconsistent with her general cha- 
racter, that I cannot but think there is 
something mysterious here, which should 
be brought to light." 

Accordingly we went, but without 
Rudolph. The great actress was at 
home and received me cordially, bowing 

gracefully to Dapuis who stood regarding 
her with a scared questioning look. 

She coloured somewhat, while I guard- 
edly announced the purport of our visit 
and assumed an air of attention, which 
became a proud defiant expression as I 

Suddenly her laugh of scorn startled 
us both; "Surrender the ring! never!" 

"I'll give you a thousand pounds for 
it" almost screamed my friend. 

"Fifty thousand pounds would not 
purchase the bauble," and she held up 
her hand triumphantly, with the Dapuis 
heirloom sparkling on her finger, then 
her voice sinking to a whisper, she added 
"I have paid too heavy a price for it 

"You!" said Rudolph's father. 

"Yes! base and worthless coward!" 
replied she, vehemently. "For the sake 
of this bauble, was I, an innocent woman, 
condemned as a felon; I have borne the 
brand in my heart ever since. Now the 
ring given first by you as a symbol ol 
affection, then wrested from me by means 


of an infamous accusation, is brought back 
to me by the son of one who married and 
discarded me. I despise both you and 
him; the sole object of my encouraging 
the silly boyish fancy was the recovery of 
this ring, which never leaves my finger 
again, even in my grave." 

She rose with queenly dignity and 
bowing courteously to me swept past 
Dapuis without even a glance. "Marie! 
Marie!" he said once in an entreating 
voice, but the door closed behind her 
and she came back no more. 




n the Winter of 1849 I once more 
(^ took part in performances of English 
Opera; and in 1850 I found myself en- 
gaged at Her Majesty's Theatre. "Ernani," 
says the Musical World, "was given for 
the first appearance of Sims Reeves — an 
event of no ordinary interest; the house 
was exceedingly full, and there was evi- 
dent curiosity and strong feeling excited 
to witness the entree of the celebrated 
English tenor on the stage of Her Majesty's 
Theatre." Passing on to give particulars, 
the Musical World adds: "The reception 
accorded to Mr. Sims Reeves was enthusi- 
astic. Hands clapped, hats and handker- 

chiefs waved, and throats vociferated. 
Every species of active demonstration 
was evidenced in favour of 'our great 
dramatic tenor,' who continued bowing 
his acknowledgments for several minutes. 
Nothing could be more unanimously bois- 
terous; nor could anything more plainly 
exhibit the position in which Mr. Sims 
Reeves stands before the London public . . . 
Mr. Sims Reeves was in great voice, and 
sang with unusual energy and dramatic 
feeling. His first cavatina, 'Come, rugiada 
al cespite,' was rendered with intense 
expression, and brought down the loudest 
applause. The delicacy and purity of his 
singing in the duet, 'Ah! morir potessi 
adesso' (with Elvira), evoked an unanimous 
encore, maugre the absence of all kind of 
merit in the composition. In the two 
'grand' finales to the first and second 
acts, Mr. Sims Reeves displaj^ed all that 
breadth of style, power of voice, and 
manly vigour for which he has been 
celebrated. The audience, pleased be- 
yond measure, applauded to the echo, 
and recalled the singer vociferously. The 


.t>Teatest hit, however, during the per- 
formance was in the last scene, where 
the composer had given a sentimental 
passage, a la Bellini, to the tenor, fol- 
lowed by an important and noisy trio, 
the whole concluding with an elaborate 
death scene. Mr. Sims Reeves acted and 
sang with decided power in this scene, thus 
finishing a very excellent performance with 
a climax which set the seal upon it, and 
confirmed the singer's triumph beyond all 

doubt At the fall of the curtain 

Mdlle. Parodi, Signor Belletti, and Mr. 
Sims Reeves, came forward twice. A call 
then being raised for 'Reeves', that gen- 
tleman appeared alone, and was cheered 
for several seconds." 

The happiest event in my life now 
took place. 

Hitherto, like the characters I imper- 
sonated, I had been a bachelor; there is 
no example, I believe, in operatic history, 
of a composer assigning to a tenor the 
part of a married man. But it is only on 
the stage that the tenor is condemned to 
celibacy; and on the 2nd of November, 1850, 


I took for my wife Miss Emma, 
who, after a brief but brilliant season at 
the Sacred Harmonic Society, had joined 
the company to which I belonged at 
Covent Garden; where, besides taking 
the leading soprano parts in several other 
works, she appeared with remarkable 
success as Haydee, in Auber's charming 
opera of that name. Four or five years 
after our marriage my wife retired from 
the stage, but she is still my constant 
companion on artistic tours. During one 
of these in the North we became asso- 
ciated with the circumstances detailed in 
the following chapter. 




ne morning the genial manager of 
^ the Glasgow theatre, where I was 
engaged, said to me. 

"Reeves, will yon oblige me by hear- 
ing a lady sing?" Readily assenting, I 
went with him to the green room, where, 
having been introduced to the girl, and 
her mother who was with her, I opened 
the piano, and began the accompaniment 
to "Una Voce." 

I was at once struck by the freshness 
and power of her fine soprano voice; so 
likewise was my wife, who came in while 
she was singing. It has always been a rule 
with me to defer to the latter in musical 

12 < 


matters; her judgement is so accurate, 
and clear. 

"Do you intend adopting tlie stage as 
a career, Miss Lovelace," said I when 
the young singer had ended. 

"I would if," she began, but her mother 
interrupted, saying: "She has a craze for 
singing, still neither her father nor myself 
will ever permit her to become a profes- 
sional vocalist." 

They were very pleased with my 
opinion of her voice, and after some 
agreeable conversation they left. 

On their departure, the manager re- 
marked "Norton Lovelace is one of the 
richest men in Glasgow, but that girl 
will be an opera singer in spite of all 
his money." 

I had previously noticed the elegant 
toilets of Mrs. Lovelace and her daughter, 
and the style of the handsome carriage 
awaiting them; likewise that the younger 
lady seemed to possess a determined 
temper and resolute disposition. 

The manager was well acquainted 
with Norton Lovelace junior, hence it 


happened that his sister's desire to be 
heard by me was gratified. 

The next morning while I was chat- 
ting with the manager, previous to re- 
hearsal, a gentleman entered the theatre 
and crossing to where we were standing, 
said, "Mr. Sims Reeves, I believe," "That 
is my name." I responded. 

The manager retired with a profound 
bow to the new-comer, who said, "Permit 
me to introduce myself as Norton Lovelace, 
father to Laura Lovelace." I repHed: "I 
am happy to make your acquaintance: 
Miss Lovelace has a charming voice." 

"You have children, Mr. Reeves?" I 
nodded assent. "And will therefore ap- 
preciate my motive in calling upon you; 
my daughter is risking a high position 
in society, by reason of her determination 
to become a public singer, and I fear 
will lose caste for the sake of vanity, and 
vanity alone." 

"But what can I do, in the matter," 
I asked. 

"A great deal," he answered; "you have 
an influence which I, alas! do not possess." 


"I! a stranger to her." 

"Even so, for until she happened to 
hear you sing some few evenings ago, an 
idea of coming before the pubhc never 
entered her head." 

He then proceeded to relate facts 
which enlisted my sympathies, and we 
parted, arranging to meet again, 

Mr. Norton Lovelace sen. . was a stout 
man of middle height, with a grave, in- 
tellectual countenance. I could hardlj^ 
realize, that he was the same man I had 
heard of as giving brilliant entertainments 
during the London season, which were the 
"talk of the town." 

We became friendly, and even in- 
timate and I derived great pleasure from 
the society of this hard-working merchant. 
He had little time to read or study, but 
appeared to be extremely well-informed 
on most subjects. 

There was nothing Pharisaical about 
Lovelace, and Sunday always found hun 
at his best; he shook off, as it were, 
that reserve which overshadoAved him 
during the week, and his family circle, 

unlike most Scottish households on the 
Sabbath, passed the day in cheerful 

Yet there was ever a troubled ex- 
pression in his eyes; and often while his 
wife and daughter were chatting with 
and entertaining visitors, he would seize 
an opportunity to steal away, and shut 
himself up alone. 

His daughter Laura was engaged to 
be married to the Hon. Stuart Macdonald, 
who, apart from certain idiosyncrasies of 
disposition, seemed a very estimable young 
fellow; yet there was some unaccountable 
reserve between Norton Lovelace and 
his intended son-in-law, although it was 
the dearest wish of the former that his 
child should become the Hon. Mrs. Mac- 

I had reasoned with Laura and suc- 
ceeded in persuading her to abandon 
her desire of becoming an opera singer; 
and this placed me on a confidential 
footing with the merchant's family and 
Stuart Mac-Donald. We met frequentl}' 
during the subsequent London season. 



and that year the merchant prince's 
lavish entertainments and splendid equi- 
pages were again the talk of society. 

He kept open house at Kensington; 
or rather his family did for him, as he 
seldom appeared there, while Laura's 
beauty, musical talent, and above all the 
knowledge that she would inherit much 
of her father's wealth, drew to the 
mansion crowds of titled and more or 
less distinguished admirers. 

When I met Stuart Mac-Donald how- 
ever, I could see plainly that he was 
ill at ease; there seemed a weight upon 
his mind, as though he were out of 
harmony with the surroundings. 

One cold day, I rose late, after sing- 
ing in oratorio at Exeter Hall, and 
listlessly opened the "Times," while sipp- 
ing a cup of coffee. Suddenly, throwing 
down the paper, I sprang to my feet 
with an ejaculation of horror, that start- 
led my wife. "What is it?" asked she 

"Norton Lovelace has been arrested 
on a charge of forgery, to the extent 

of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds: 
I must start for Kensington at once." 

I hurried from the house, and caught 
the next train to town; the first person 
I encountered on leaving Victoria Station 
was Stuart Mac-Donald. He was greatly 
agitated and said: "I have lost heavily 
in this matter; but of that, nothing; 
Laura! poor Laura! I want your kind 
help for her." 

"Command me in any way," I said 

"Will you go to Laura and her mother, 
and do your best to comfort them? Try 
and make as little of the affair as pos- 
sible; Norton Lovelace is remanded for 
further evidence; before his case comes 
on again, I shall have raised the required 
sum, and I hope to be able to quash the 

He declined my offer of monetary 
assistance, saying: "I have a right to do 
this as a proof of my love for his 
daughter." The following morning we 
met again, "The worst is to be feared" 
he said. "My lawyer tells me that, any 


attempt to compromise tlie matter would 
be unavailiDg. the prosecution having 
been instituted by a bank; but what 
news of Laura and the others?" 

"Laura has fled from home; even her 
mother, who is prostrate with grief, does 
not know where she has gone, she left 
this letter to be given to you." 

Hastily he opened and read Laura's 
epistle which ran thus: 

"Do not attempt to seek for me; a 
felon's daughter can never be your wife, 
or look upon your face again. My one 
prayer is that you may forget. 


Poor Stuart leaned his head upon 
his arms, and, man though he was, broke 
down utterly, weeping like a woman. 

A few weeks later Norton Lovelace 
was tried, found guilty and sentenced to 
penal servitude for life; but through 
powerful influence it was afterwards re- 
duced to 20 years. His wife and son 
found friends; the former went to live 
with a widowed sister, and the latter 
emigrated to New Zealand, hoping to 

obliterate in a new world and career the 
disgrace cast upon him by his father's crime. 

Stuart Mac -Donald declared his in- 
tention of going in quest of poor lost 
Laura. He departed for the Continent, and 
for some time I heard no more of him; 
at length I received the following letter 
dated from Glenlachie castle, the ancient 
home of his race: 

"Dear Reeves. 

Since I parted from you I have 
wandered through France and Italy in 
search of Laura. My journey has been 
fruitless, and in yesterday's paper I read 
the announcement of her sudden death. 
Dear and deeply lamented girl! After 
all my efforts to find her, this is the 
miserable end! 

Your ever faithful 

Stuart Mac-Donald." 

"The verses I enclose, are written in 
memory of m}^ lost Laura." 

The lines were called: 

"The Old, Old Tale." 

The old, old tale of a love that lives, 
Aye lives, though hope has fled, 


The old, old tale of a love that lives, 
When the heart is cold and dead. 

I wander down the haunted path, 
To the trysting place once more, 
The hallowed twilight knows how oft 
We lingered there of yore. 
Alas! for the days of yore! 

Ah me! for the tale of a love that lives, 
Aye lives, thougli hope has fled. 
Ah me, for the tale of a love that lives, 
When the heart is cold and dead. 

My love is won by the monarch Death, 

He gathered the rose I prize; 

I linger here on the earth beneath 

And she is beyond the skies, 

And she is beyond the skies. 

Still love, I wait at the gate. 

At the trysting place of old; 

For ever and aye in my inmost sonl 

Thine image I'll enfold. 

Enclosed also, was a copy of the 
newspaper paragraph which ran as fol- 
lows: — 

"The inhabitants of the little town 
of — in Hungary were recently startled 
by the sudden death of Miss Laura 


Lovelace, who was dame de coiapagnie to 
the wife of the well-known Magyar noble, 
Count K — . Her father, a man of note 
in the British mercantile world, was con- 
victed of forgery some little time ago; 
this, it is believed, preyed on the young- 
lady's mind, and led to her untimely end." 



Wn February 1851 I returned to Dublin, 
^ where I was to have sung with Madame 
Grisi, who, however, was suddenly taken 
ill, and declared by her medical attendant 
to be "totally unable to fulfil any pro- 
fessional engagement." But another prima 
donna was soon forthcoming, and the 
former Miss Lucombe, now my wife, 
joined me in a series of operatic re- 
presentations. We appeared as Edgardo 
and Lucia, as Elvino and Amina, as Arturo 
and Elvira ("Puritani"), and as Ernani and 
Elvira. I undertook, moreover, the part of 
Captain Macheath, in the "Beggars' Opera." 



"xyyiy 'hile visiting in the south of Ireland, 
5?^ I made an excursion to the ruins of 
"Darkshore" Castle, as it was called, and 
while there, heard not only the romantic 
story connected with its siege and de- 
struction hy Cromwell, but also the par- 
ticulars of an episode, which had happened 
during the Fenian agitation, even then 
still disturbing the land. 

The ruins of Darskshore Castle crown 
the brow of a steep and lofty hill, from 
which a splendid view is obtained of the 
adjacent country; clothed in dense foliage, 


the shattered remains of the towering 
keep yet form an imposing land -mark 
to the peasantry, who regard those rug- 
ged, ivy clad ruins with a feeling akin 
to reverence. 

Huge massive granite walls with loop- 
hole and casemates bear testimony to the 
former strength of the fortress, but fallen 
masonry, broken archwaj^s, and columns 
are all that now survive to speak of past 

On one side Nature has presented 
an impassable barrier to the invader, 
and rendered the defensive skill of man 
superfluous; beneath the battlemented 
wall the solid rock rises almost perpen- 
dicular, while at its foot a swift torrent, 
black and deep, rushes on its wa}^ to 
the sea. A feeling of dread, which I 
shall not easily forget, thrilled through 
me, the first time I gazed into that 
seething abyss, as I stood on the crumbl- 
ing turretted arch which terminated what 
had once been the courtyard of the an- 
cient keep. 

In the days when Cromwell ravaged 


Ireland, three brothers and then- two sisters, 
the only survivors of a long line, dwelt 
together in this their ancestral home. 

Loyal supporters of Charles's cause, to 
the last they held out against the usurper, 
bravely enduring the many terrible pri- 
vations consequent upon a long siege; 
while the Man of blood and Bible in 
vain repeatedly demanded the surrender 
of the fortress. But, 

"How can man die better, 
Than facing fearful odds, 
For the ashes of his fathers 
And the altars of his gods," 

and they laughedCromwell'seflfortstoscorn. 

He decided on starving them into 
submission. Famine with its grim at- 
tendant horrors seized upon the heroic 
garrison, and at length the young chief 
of Darkshore called his followers around 
him and said: 

"Our resolve is taken; let the gates be 
opened; fight the Cromwellians to the last, 
or sue for quarter as you may: My brothers, 
sisters and myself have one refuge left." 

The gates Avere thrown open and in 



rushed the conquerors, but ere they en- 
tered, that devoted family, fired with 
the heroism of despair, mounted upon 
l)lindfolded horses, and with unfaltering- 
courage, spurred them across the court- 
yard to where beneath the precipice the 
headlong torrent rushed. Over the bat- 
tlemented wall, each without hesitation 
took the fatal leap; brothers and sisters 
sank into the boiling depths: their only 
requiem the yells of Cromwell's infuriated 
soldiery, and the cries of the slaughtered 

Such is the story of the fall of Dark- 
shore Castle, and I now come to an 
episode which took place somewhat pre- 
vious to mv visit, under the shadow of 
the grey ruin. 

A dark comely young spinster was 
Mary Malone; artless and simple as a 
child, the world to her was bounded 
by her native village, which seemted a 
place of contentment and happiness; she 
dwelt there with her father, mother, and 
three stalwart brothers, and while the 
men of her family associated themselves 


with others in a plot against tlie ruling 
powers, which had for its motive the 
ever recurring desire of "Ireland for 
the Irish," Mary like other girls of her 
class, abode at home, and helped her 

The ruins of Darkshore Castle are 
indeed in their grim solitude most suitable 
haunts for those who, misguided, seek to 
conspire against the peace of their neigh- 
bours, and here, night by night, came the 
Head Centre, and his confreres, belong- 
ing to a certain branch of the Fenian 
organization, which then sought to domi- 
nate the sister isle. 

Pretty Mary also repaired to the 
same spot, bent on attending mysterious 
meetings, but having little motive for 
concealment, she wandered thither in 
the bright light of day. 

The cause may be briefly stated. A 
stranger who had recently appeared in the 
village, seeking employment as a water- 
man, made her acquaintance. Paying 
her assiduous attention he easily won her 
untutored simple heart, which soon went 



out to him with all the enthusiasm of 
first love. 

He was Mary's senior by some years 
and could hardly be termed goodlooking; 
but he was erect and manly in his bear- 
ing, and the stories he told her of the 
great world that lay beyond the village, 
astonished and fascinated the simple 

Confident and free of speech, among 
the men, the new boatman was a taking- 
fellow, whom to associate with, Avas to 
like; 3^et, somehow, Marj^'s brothers were 
not greatly attracted by him, though 
he seemed in no want of money, and 
spent it freely. He, a stranger, they 
thought, could hardly earn so much 
merely by ferrying passengers across, or 
rowing them up the river. 

Mary's mother likewise did not "cotton" 
to the stranger, but her father took a fancy 
to him, attracted as was his daughter by 
the younger man's many sided knowledge 
of life, and pleased with the considerate 
deference he always showed him. 

Ned, the boatman, became Mary's ac- 


cepted husband, and a member of the 
secret society, which owned Mary's father 
and brothers among its associates; he soon 
by reason of his superior intelhgence held 
an important post; though at their meet- 
ings he was rather an attentive listener 
than an animated speaker; while his 
liberality both with purse and whiskey 
caused him to be reckoned as "a good 
fellow entirely." 

Political matters in Ireland had been 
for some time ripening to a head; and 
the Government determined to strike at 
the Fenian organization root and branch; 
offers of reward for information, and 
prohibitions of meetings were scattered 
broadcast throughout the country, but 
the people defied both with equal en- 

As Dublin Castle continued to ful- 
minate decrees, the more did police sur- 
veillance increase, so in degree did the 
Fenian branches become aggressive and 
daring in their operations. 

At length the morning of Mary 
Malone's marriage dawned; when in spite 


of the troublous time, the Httle village 
and every one in it was en fete. The old 
weather-stained chapel was early crowded 
and the solitary bell that hung in the 
grey tower, did its best to rival its greater 
brethren of St. Paul's or St. Peter's by 
ringing a merry peal, for to those simple 
peasants the cracked old campanula was 
as the voice of Destiny, that summoned 
them to the altar or the tomb. 

All radiant came the pretty bride 
walking between her parents, and escort- 
ed by her brothers; with blushing down- 
cast look she walked up the gravelled 
path to the chapel door, where Ned, the 
boatman, awaited them, carefully attired, 
but for one ordinarily so cool, somewhat 
ill at ease. 

As the bride and her party reached 
the portal of the sacred edifice, she was 
suddenly pushed without ceremony into 
the building with her mother; while a 
violent tumult of yells and shrieks aris- 
ing, filled their souls with dismay and 

Presentl}^ Mary beheld, with fright 


and amazement her father and three 
brothers handcuffed and in the custod}^ 
of poHcemen, as her mother m an agony, 
hung upon the old man's neck, and the 
bridegroom stood by agitated, but striv- 
ing to assume composure. In an instant 
the truth flashed upon her. "Oh! Ned!" 
she wailed, and with a heartrending cry, 
fell senseless to the earth. 

For a moment his countenance relaxed 
and he seemed to shrink, but he speedily 
controlled himself, and, turning to the 
constabulary close by, said in a voice of 
command: "Form into line! Quick March!" 
And with all the members of the secret 
society in close custodj^, they marched 
unheeding past the insensible girl and 
her weeping mother. 

That night two policemen were heard 
to commune thus: 

"He's a cool card, mate, is the Dublin 
sergeant Fergusson," said one. 

"An old hand," replied the other, "did 
them completely; even going so far as 
to arrange for his marriage with the 


"He did! what' 11 he get from the 
Government for the job?" 

"Enough to take himself and his 
wife and family anywhere they like for 

"Well," said the first speaker, "it's not 
everyone could do this thing; and mark 
my words: the Sergeant wont thrive, he'll 
be caught in his own trap yet." 

Ned, the boatman, alias Tom Fergusson, 
police spy and arch-informer, was some 
time after shot dead by an unknown 
hand; the villagers said a cousin of Mary 
Malone's, who had long loved her without 
return. She, poor girl, lingered on for a 
year, and then died of a broken heart. 






had scarcely finished my engagement 
(^ at Dublin, when I was called upon to 
sing at the Theatre des Italiens of Paris, 
then under the direction of Mr. Lumley. 

Arriving in the French Capital, I was 
introduced to my new public at a concert, 
where I made a very favourable impression. 
Mr. Lumley wrote to me as follows: You 
will have a great success in "Ernani;" I 
was delighted to observe the real hold 
you had obtained over the Parisians by 
your singing at the last concert. Simulta- 
neously with myself, Mdlle. Sophie Cruvelli 
made her first appearance before a Parisian 


public. "Her debut ^'' wrote the Paris 
correspondent of one of the London 
musical journals, "as Dona Sol in the 
ranting opera of 'Ernani'" (Verdi was not 
much admired in those days) "was tri- 
umphant. Sims Reeves played Ernani, 
Colini Carlo V., and Scapini Silva. The 
English tenor was in splendid voice, and 
rose higher than ever in the good opinion 
of the ahonnes^ 

I during my engagement at the 
Theatre des Italiens, sang among other 
parts, those of Carlo in "Linda di Cha- 
mouni," and Gennaro in "Lucrezia Borgia." 
A writer, describing the "Linda" perform- 
ance, says, that at times the house "literally 
rang with applause." The Linda was the 
renowned Madame Sontag, who, after a 
successful career, terminating with a 
seemingly brilliant marriage, had now 
returned to the operatic stage — the mar- 
riage having turned out less brilliant, 
than it had at first appeared; and it was 
said that, "in the duet with Madame 
Sontag, Reeves was cheered enthusias- 


Probabl}^ no siuger has less cause 
to comj)laiii than myself of not being 

My merits, however, like those of all 
artists fortunate enough to become sub- 
jects of general discussion, have at times 
been denied or, at least, underestimated; 
and when I was at the height of success 
as a singer of Italian Operatic music, my 
old friend, the Rev. Archer Gurney con- 
stituted himself my champion in a Satire 
called: "The Transcendentahsts." 

After describing some other popular 
singers of the day, Mr. Gurney passed 
on to myself, whoso qualities were per- 
haps not justly valued by a certain 
section of our operatic habitues. "These," 
he wrote referring to the most favoured 
of the Italian Vocalists, 

These crowds admire; tliese ftishiou's swann applaud. 
These all the wise men in the papers laud; 
While — though I hanter, such confession grieves, 
The "Connoisseurs" have only shrugs for "Reeves," 
Or, at the best, bestow, his worthiest done, 
Insulting patronage on Genius' sou. 
Let fashion yawn, or sapient learning frown. 
These verses float to mute oblivion down. 

Yet gladly roll they now, whoe'er deride, 

To one whom Britain calls her son with pride. 

Why should not she, who guards our Albion's throne. 
And sways her sceptre, British genius own? 
Surely some calumny, some slander vile, 
Forged by Italian fraud, perchance, and guile, 
Has closed that royal soul to Genius' claim; 
For they, who cannot equal, may defame. 
For me, true merit must inspire my lays; 
Would that some worthier trophy I could raise 
To powers that oft the inmost soul have stirr'd 
Until I sat entranced, and breathed no word. 

In Reeves the rarest qiialities combine; 

Art's highest magic, and the glow divine, 

Which kindles generous souls with nameless force, 

Which vulgar fashion reprobates as coarse, 

That mean and small refinement which would throw 

Convention's pall o'er all — above, below; 

A voice which ranging wide, possesses still 

A sympathetic quality to thrill; 

Now charms you like the zephyr's softest tone, 

The nightingale's bewildering forest-moan. 

Now like the storm-wind wakes to glorioiis strife. 

And kindles passion's billows into life: 

All by that taste controlled, that instinct high, 

No study can achieve, no art can buy, 

Heaven's gift at birth, which, falling from above. 

Attuned the artist's soul to light and love. 


Hear him as Edgar Ravenswood complain; 
This is no forced, no artificial strain: 
Your soul lies whelm'd 'neatli those deep seas of grief, 
Until a sigh, or tears, must yield relief. 
Hear him of Nelson's death the burden sing, 
Where is the heart would not responsive ring? 
Even Fashion's slaves are rapt beyond control, 
And start to find they still possess a soul. 
But oh! in Handel's strain, that awes and charms. 
List him as Samson taunt the giant's alarms, 
Or else as gentle Acts trill his lay. 
Or as brave Maccabaeus fire the fray; 
hear him in those strains most i-apt of all. 
As Jephthah mourn his one loved daughter's fall, 
And then, with heart-restoring melodies. 
Follow her — angel wafted to the skies. 
Can critics list, and coldly say "'Twas Avell?" 
And can the public wake not to the spell? 
It wakes, to momentary glow it wakes: 
.Beneath the charm convention all forsakes; 
The vast crowd thrill with joys unknown till then. 
And music stirs the hearts of Englishmen. 
But soon that most unwonted ardour dies, 
Ardour that must its owners much surprise. 
The crowd goes home, and mutters, "I declare, 
Reeves does sing finely though!" "Yes, very fair." 
"Not in good taste though quite, but he'll improve." 
And so the dull world slides along its groove. 



revious to my leaving town to fulfil 
^> an engagement in the French capi- 
tal, I heard mnch of the strong company 
with whom I was to appear, and especi- 
ally of the prima donna, Mdlle. Britani, 
who held high ground in operatic circles. 
"An artiste to her finger-tips" said those, 
whose opinion on such subjects was of 

Arrived in gay Paris, I found little 
time for reflection. Rehearsals had begun, 
and in this Paradise of pleasure and 
courtesy, passion and politics, I expected 
to meet many old acquaintances, social 
and professional. 

I appearc^d punctually the next morn- 
ing at the "Theatre des Italiens" in time 
for the second rehearsal of Ernani, and 
great indeed was my astonishment when 
I recognized in Mdlle. Britani, my friend 
Laura Lovelace, who was supposed to 
liave died suddenly two years before; 
she was somewhat older in appearance, 
l)ut otherwise little changed, save that 
certain resolute lines about her mouth 
seemed to have deepened and hardened. 

Many conversations passed during the 
intervals of our scenes, in which she re- 
lated much that had happened in the 
past two years, and how the false report 
of her death had arisen. She entreated 
me not to make known the fact of her 
existence to any of our former friends; 
and to this I assented, with, however, one 
mental reservation. 

As I saw and heard her, sorrowfully 
did my mind travel back to the once 
happy Lovelace family, especially that 
grave, hard working merchant, whose 
fall was so sudden, and to a cei^tain 
extent mysterious. I had always an 


idea that he was more sinned against, 
than sinning; for the intrigues among 
our great financiers are little guessed at 
by the general public, and many a 
mercantile firm of princely wealth and 
colossal influence, has owed its success 
to transactions which have been pulled 
through by the proverbial "skin of the 
teeth." Success brought honour and pro- 
sperity, failure the criminal dock, and 
Portland or Dartmoor. 

To return to Ernani: On its production 
it proved a triumphant success, and the 
new prima donna justified all that had 
been said of her; with experience she 
would attain high rank as an operatic 
singer; for, though not without faults 
of style, she possessed a powerful and 
sympathetic voice, and no small talent 
as an actress. 

Her modest reserve, a quality so often 
lacking in artistes vocal or dramatic, 
gave her an additional charm; she never 
lingered on the stage longer than the 
role required, or "made eyes" at the 
stalls; an elderly woman, a worthy Scotch 


matron, who had once ])een her father's 
housekeeper, attended her as duenna; and 
when she was on the stage waited at 
the wings, returning with her when the 
performance was over, to their quiet 

As is currently known, vocalists cul- 
tivate suppers; indeed to many artistes 
it forms the onl}^ solid meal of the day, 
then restraint and anxiety cease for a 
time, and relaxed Nature takes a rest. 

Mdlle. Britani, my wife and myself, 
were at the supper table one night 
when the servant brought me a note 
hastily written in pencil. Recognising 
the writing I started, then rising with 
an apology to our guest, I passed into 
the adjoining room. 

My absence was prolonged; at least, 
so thought my wife, who came out to 
enquire the cause. Briefly I told her, 
presenting the friend who had called 
upon us; after a few minutes consultation 
we returned to the supper room and 
Mdlle. Britani; my heart beat somewhat 
faster as I opened the door, for in another 


moment Stuart Mac Donald stood face 
to face with Laura Lovelace! 

The first time we met at the theatre, 
I learned from her that it was a cousin, 
bearing the same name, who had died 
in Hungary. She, Laura, had directly 
after her father's conviction, made her 
way to Italy; there finding friends, she 
had carefully studied to develop her 
natural gifts for the lyric stage, and 
this Paris engagement was the first 
important one she had obtained; un- 
known to her I forwarded these parti- 
culars to poor Stuart Mac Donald. The 
result was his visit to me that evening. 

My wife and I retired for a short time 
on some trifling pretext; when we joined 
them again, they were seated side by 
side, both were greatly agitated, but her 
face bore an expression of unalterable 

As Mac Donald rose to depart, I 
knew by his hopeless air, that the re- 
newal of his suit had proved fruitless: 
I accompanied him to the door, where, 
pressing my hand, he said: "She will 


never marry me; it is her inexorable 
resolve. To be tolerated as a friend, 
where I was once a lover, and hoped 
to have been husband! It is indeed a 
bitter reflection." 

"She will never marry me," he kept 
mournfully repeating while descending 
the stairs. 

A few nights later I seized on what 
seemed a favourable moment to plead 
for the poor fellow. It was when Mdlle. 
Britain and m3^self had been loudly ap- 
plauded, after singing the beautiful duo 
"Tornami a dir'che niami;'' I said in an 
under -tone: "Laura, think of unhappy 
Stuart." "The thought of my convict 
father is surely enough," she replied and 
her despairing accent I shall not easily 
forget: I never referred to the subject 
again. Avoiding England or Scotland, 
Laura reigns as a prima donna on the 
Continental stage; we meet accasionally 
in this world of change, but she alwa^'s 
seems to me as a child found to be lost 
again. She ever welcomes Stuart Mac 
Donald with the kindness of a friend, 


l>at the heart's glow is chilled by the 
shadow of the tomb, where Love lies 
buried. Yet there are times, when her 
matchless firmness seems to relax, and 
poor Stuart has told me, that he still has 
hope that the "love that lived,'' may one 
day rise from its grave again." 


FESTIVAL. "FAUST." &c. &c. 

J late years I have appeared but 
c^^ little on the Operatic Stage, having 
confined myself chiefly to concert -sing- 
ing and oratorio-performances. In Opera, 
in Oratorio, and in simple ballads I have 
been uniformly successful. 

Braham, like myself, had a success 
which was many-sided; indeed it is not 
a little remarkable, that Braham took his 
farewell of the public in the very year, 
1839, in which I appeared before the 
public for the first time. Reference must 
be made to my efforts in English ballad- 
opera, such as the before -mentioned 

"Beggar's Opera" and the "Waterman." 
Moreover, that in 1860 I sang in Mac- 
farren's "Robin Hood" at Her Majesty's 

Macfarren composed the principal 
part in what is now generally recognised 
as that master's best Opera for myself; 
likewise Mr., afterwards Sir Michael Costa, 
assigned to me the leading characters 
in "Eli" and in "Naaman." 

In Larousse's generally excellent 
"Dictionnaire Universel du XIX^ Siecle," 
the writer of the article upon myself 
calls particular attention to my perfor- 
mances at our great provincial festivals, 
where it was said "he interprets with 
inexpressible charm Scotch and English 
melodies." It is not, however, by the 
presentation of national ballads that our 
provincial festivals have gained the high 
musical reputation, which justly belongs 
to them; but rather by the admirable 
manner in which, at these great music- 
meetings, the oratorios of Handel and 
Mendelssohn are performed. 

In 1855, I undertook the principal 


tenor-part, written, as before mentioned, 
expressly for me, in the oratorio of "Eli," 
composed for the Birmingham Festival. 
Mr. Costa, in preparing this work, had 
much to contend with. The story is 
disjointed, and the incidents, few and 
far between, by no means lend them- 
selves to musical illustration. The com- 
poser was therefore compelled to give a 
fragmentary shape to his music, and to 
break the interest into pieces. There are 
two situations, however, which offer op- 
portunities to the musician; and of these 
Mr. Costa did not fail to take advantage. 
The first is where Mi overhears his two 
sons, Hophni and Phineas, riotously singing 
to the women assembled at the door of 
the tabernacle; the second is where 
Saph — a valiant warrior of Gath — sum- 
mons the Philistines to battle. The second 
situation — the call to battle — was turned 
to excellent musical account; and it is 
narrated in the journals of the period 
that "the singing of Mr. Sims Reeves 
and the chorus induced the audience to 
overthrow the barriers of etiquette, and 


take from the hands of the president 
the assumed right of encoring. The solo 
and chorus, 'Phihstines, Hark the Trumpet 
Sounding,' carried everything before it, 
and the audience were quite unable to 
suppress their emotions. Mr. Sims Reeves 
gave the solo with electrical effect; the 
chorus answered in a voice of thunder; 
and the applause was such that, as before 
stated, the president was obliged to con- 
sent to a repetition." 

Among the audience, hstening with 
critical attention, were three famous 
tenors of the day — Mario, Gardoni, and 
Tamberlik. At the end of the oratorio 
the greatest of the three complimented, 
in presence of his artistic colleagues, the 
successful composer. "But you have in- 
sulted us," he added, jokingly. "How?" 
enquired Costa. "By giving the tenor 
part," replied Mario, "to an English 
singer. But you were right after all," 
he continued; "for no Italian could have 
sung it." 

In Sir Michael Costa's second oratorio, 
written, like the first, for the Birmingham 

Festival, tli« tenor part [Naaimni), as iu 
"Eli," had been composed expressly for 
myself. My associates in the work were 
AdelinaPatti, Miss Palmer, andMr.Santley; 
and one of the great successes of the 
oratorio was the quartett, "Honour and 
Glory," executed by the singers just 
named. "Nothing more unanimous," wrote 
one of the critics present at the festival, 
"nothing more spontaneous was ever 
witnessed, than the overwhelming demand 
for an instant repetition of this wonder- 
fully striking and effective piece. It was, 
moreover, superbly executed. In the de- 
livery of the opening phrase (alternately 
taken up by the other voices), Mr. Sims 
Reeves electrified his hearers; every note 
was an 'Armstrong;' then the youthful, 
sympathetic, and penetrating notes of 
Mdlle. Adelina Patti's exquisite soprano 
rang through the hall like sounds from 
a silver trumpet. In the bass part, Mr. 
Santley was incomparable; while Miss Pal- 
mer, the contralto, by her correctness and 
intelligence, showed how thoroughly she 
felt the honour of being in such company." 

This was Adelina Patti's first appear- 
ance in oratorio; and the composer was 
indeed fortunate in finding such a re- 
presentative for his Adah. Patti's cUhut as 
a singer of sacred music was pronounced 
by everyone a triumphant success. To 
keep more particularly to my perform- 
ance, it is recorded that "all the martial 
music which forms part of the parapher- 
nalia attending the several appearances 
of Naaman, including the splendidly in- 
strumental triumphal march with chorus 
in the first part, and a purely instrumental 
march, both original and characteristic, 
in the second, is as vigorous and spirited 
as could be wished. Naamans last solo, 
'Blessed be the Lord God,' a sort of 
prologue to the imposing final chorus, 
is a grand piece of musical declamation. 
It is doubtful whether any other tenor 
than Mr. Sims Peeves, who in his read- 
ing imparts almost as much dramatic 
significance, as if he were surrounded b}^ 
all the accessories and appointments of 
stage representation, could be found, to 
make Naaman the striking character he 


makes him. Never has this artist been 
more completely master of his resources 
than at this festival; and never did he 
exert his rare powers with more assiduity 
and success, than on behalf of Mr. Costa's 
new work. 'There is but one Reeves,' was 
the remark on all sides, after his noble 
delivery of the first phrase in the in- 
spiriting quartette Mr. Costa had 

secured for his oratorio a cast of un- 
precedented strength. Besides the four 
artists already named, Madame Sainton- 
Dolby was provided with a part, which, 
if dramatically unimportant, contained 
two very beautiful airs: 'I Sought the 
Lord,' and 'I Dreamt I was in Heaven.'" 

At the conclusion of the oratorio, 
Mr. Costa called upon me to express 
appreciation of the invaluable aid I ren- 
dered throughout the performance; but 
finding me absent, left his card, upon 
which was written, ''In paradiso non si 
canta meglio." 

In the oratorios of Handel and 
Mendelssohn there are not a few parts, 
wath which I may claim close identifi- 


cation. Take, for instance, the recitative 
in St. Panl, "Men, Brothers, and Fathers, 
Hearken to mc," and the airs, "The 
Enemy has said," and "Sound an Alarm," 
in "Judas Maccabseus." 

Meanwhile, I had not for the sake 
of oratorio-performances been neglecting 
opera. In 1860, a new attempt to es- 
tablish an English opera was made at 
Her Majesty's Theatre, by Mr. E. T. 
Smith. This enterprising manager aimed, 
however, at too much. He engaged two 
distinct companies, and arranged to per- 
form two distinct series of operas. English 
and Italian opera were to be performed 
on alternate nights, the English season 
beginning with a new romantic work, 
entitled "Hobin Hood;" the music com- 
posed by Mr. G. A. Macfarren, the libretto 
by Mr. John Oxenford. The artists en- 
gaged for "Robin Hood," were Madame 
Lemmens-Sherrington, Madame Lemaire, 
Mr. Santley, Mr. Parkinson, and myself. 
The musical journals announced before- 
hand, that I had a part which would be 
found to suit me in every respect; and 

the Musical World set forth that "both 
poet and musician liad our great tenor 
in their mind's oja, when they put pen 
to paper." "Robin Hood," to return for 
a moment to Mr, Smith's general scheme, 
was to be followed by "II Trovatore," 
in Italian, with Mdlle. Titiens, Madame 
Lemaire, Signor Giugiini, and Signor 
Vialetti, in the principal parts. 

Besides the vocalists to whom parts 
were assigned in Mr. Macfarren's new 
opera, the English company included 
Miss Parepa (afterwards Madame Parepa- 
Hosa), Mdlle. Jenny Bauer, Miss Laura 
Baxter, and Miss Famiy Huddart, Mr. 
Swift, Mr. Geo. Perren, Mr. Pate}^, and 
others. The conductoi" of the orchestra, 
which served one night for the English, 
another for the Italian performances, was, 
for the former, Mr. Chas. Halle; for the 
latter, Signor Arditi. "The undertaking," 
wrote the Musical World, "is curious and 
important, and may prove hazardous. We 
think it somewhat bold in Mr. Smith, 
after securing so capital an English 
company — one, indeed, which almost 

ensures success a priori — to engage an 
Italian company to interfere with that 
success. Mr. Sims Reeves no doubt is a 
powerful attraction, and he has a public 
of his own, which will not be moved 
from him by any Italian allurements. 
But we cannot hide from ourselves the 
fact, that an immense temptation is prof- 
fered to the public in being afforded a 
means of hearing Mdlle. Titiens and 
Sign or Giuglini at playhouse prices." 

"Mr. E. T. Smith," continued our 
lively contemporary, after the manager 
had opened Her Majesty's Theatre, with 
his twofold enterprise, "is in the position 
of a skilful sportsman, who shoots with 
a double-barrelled gun. If one barrel 
miss fire, the other is sure to hit — that 
is, provided the aim be straight and the 
gun properly loaded. But sometimes even 
with these provisions, though the hand 
be steady, and the sight be clear and 
well directed — though the powder be 
from the best mills and the shot be 
undeniably spherical — the object is not 
hit — if hit to no purpose. The bird flies 

away unscathed, and leaves the sportsman 
to lament over his bad luck; for what 
sportsman would admit that the failure 
was to he attributed to himself?" 

"As regards Mr. Macfarren's new 
opera," said the same periodical a week 
or two later, "a greater and more legi- 
timate success than that achieved by this 
work we never witnessed. The crowd 
was immense, the excitement unusual, 
and expectation on tiptoe. That Mr. John 
Oxenford was the author of the libretto 
gave a new interest to the performance, 
and all the musicians and poets in London, 
and many far from London, were in their 
places, anxious and expectant, long before 
the curtain rose. Moreover, the cast of 
the parts presented an unusual attraction 
in itself. Mr. Sims Reeves, who, except 
during his annual visit to the National 
Standard in the oriental suburbs, has not 
appeared for years on the London boards, 
was to play the principal character; and 
Madame Lemmens-Sherrington, who has 
never appeared on the stage at all, was 
to make her debut. Mr. Santley, too, 

and Mr. George Honey, from the Royal 
English Opera, were both included in 
the cast." 

"The pieces which received most ap- 
plause were the overture, encored and 
repeated; the duet for Locksley and Marian, 
'When Lovers are Parted,' exquisitely 
warbled b}- Mr. Sims Reeves and Madame 
Sherrington; the song iov Marian, 'True 
Love, True Love in my Heart,' the sub- 
ject of which is frequentlj^ employed 
tliroughout the opera; Locksley s song, 
'Englishmen b}^ Birth are Free," magnifi- 
cently sung by Mr. Sims Reeves, who 
refused to accept the encore called for by 
the entire audience; the finale to the first 
act commencing with the round, 'May 
the Saints Protect and Guide Thee,' JRohin 
Hood's song, 'The Grasping, Rasping 
Norman Race' — another splendid piece 
of vocalization by Mr. Sims Reeves; the 
whole fair scene at Nottingham, a master- 
piece throughout; Locksley s ballad, 'Thj' 
Gentle Voice would Lead me on,' the 
most graceful and flowery air in the 
opera, given to perfection by Mr. Sims 


Reeves; the fi?iale to the second act, the 
most elaborate and powerful composition 
ill the opera; and Locksleys grand scena 
in the prison. 

"Of Mr. Sims Reeves it is impossible 
to speak too highly. He was never in 
finer voice, never sang more magnifi- 
cently, nor in the course of his length- 
ened career did he ever create a more 
profound impression. The music of 'Robin 
Hood' is extremely varied; and whether 
as the sentimental lover wooing Marian, 
as the freeborn Saxon denouncing foreign 
oppression, or the doomed outlaw in the 
gaol lamenting his approaching fate, the 
singing of Mr. Sims Reeves was equally 

In a subsequent notice the same paper 
wrote: - — '"Robin Hood' continues to 
draw immense audiences, and the interest 
the performance created on the first night 
increases with each successive repetition. 
As the music is heard oftener, its beauties 
become more apparent and its purpose 
is rendered more distinct. This is the 
best compliment that could be paid to 



the opera, and proves that its merits are 
not superficial, nor its attractions merely 
of the ad cajptandum kind. So great in- 
deed is the success, that it weakens in 
some respects the prestige of the alternate 
Italian nights; and Mr. Sims Reeves, 
Madame Lemmens-Sherrington, etc., now 
warble to more multitudinous ears than 
Mdlle. Titiens and Signor Giuglini, even 
with the aid of 'Don Giovanni.' It is 
lucky for Mr. Buckstone that the Hay- 
market Theatre is so near Her Majesty's, 
The 'overflows' to 'Robin Hood' have 
helped to 'cram' the elegant little temple 
of comedy opposite. Of the principal 
singers engaged in the performance of 
'Robin Hood' we cannot speak too fa- 
vourably. Mr. Sims Reeves was never 
better suited; and besides his wonderfully 
spirited declamation of the songs else- 
where quoted, gives the arduous scena 
of the prison, late as it appears in the 
opera, with an enthusiasm that imparts 
itself to his audience, and encourages 
the belief that he could go through the 
whole of his music again with the utmost 


ease, so fresh and vigorous is his voice 
— so unabated his energy." 

In December 1860, I had the mis- 
fortune to lose my father and for a time 
ceased to appear in public. On my return 
to Her Majesty's Theatre the Daily Tele- 
graph made the occasion the subject oi 
the following article: — "On Tuesday 
night Mr. Sims Reeves made his first 
appearance in public, since the loss of 
his father deprived the theatre of his 
invaluable services. We constantly hear 
reflections made on the capriciousness of 
artistes, and as in most cases these ob- 
servations are totally unfounded, we are 
always glad of an opportunity to give 
full credit to those who do their very 
utmost to keep faith with the public. It 
ought to be made known that Mr. Sims 
Reeves has throughout the season strained 
every nerve in order to avoid disappoint- 
ing his audience. During the run of 'Robin 
Hood' he has contracted no other en- 
gagement; indeed, he has never once 
sung at the concerts at which he usually 
appears — as he was expected to do on 

15 • 


the ofF-niglits of Her Majesty's Opera — 
fearing lest the additional exertion might 
possibly prevent his doing full justice to 
the part he had undertaken to perform. 
Mr. Reeves has thus made real and 
tangible sacrifices for the sake of aiding 
the success of national opera, and this 
proof of selfdenying devotion to his art 
will be fully appreciated by all. Certainly 
the warmth of the reception accorded to 
him last night seemed to express sympathy 
with the man as much as admiration for 
the artist. Mr. Sims Reeves Avas in splen- 
did voice, the enforced rest having exert- 
ed an evidently beneficial influence, and 
he never sang with more expression and 
effect. 'Thou art my own, my Guiding 
Star,' was deliciously rendered, and ve- 
hemently applauded; while the spirited 
drinking song was given with immense 
vigour; it was, however, in the long and 
arduous scena of the prison that the ex- 
quisite taste and consummate skill in 
vocalisation of the great tenor were both 
most remarkably displayed." 

Since 1860 I have been but rarelv 


heard on the operatic stage. But I have 
continued without intermission to sing at 
the most important of our musical festi- 
vals, and at the oratorio-performances of 
the Sacred Harmonic Society. My greatest 
triumphs, however, in sacred music, have 
been achieved at the Crystal Palace, 
amidst the grandest surroundings by 
which the impressiveness of the master- 
pieces of sacred music has ever been 
enhanced. When, in June 1857, the 
preliminary Handel Festival was held at 
the Crystal Palace, I achieved remarkable 
success in the three oratorios performed 
— the "Messiah," "Israel in Egypt," and 
"Judas Maccabaeus." These three works 
were repeated under the same conditions 
at the centennial festival of 1859 — the 
first of the festivals given every three 
years even to the present day. At the 
historical festival of 1859 the solo singers 
were Madame Clara Novello, Miss Dolby, 
Messrs. Reeves and Weiss, and Signor 
Belletti. All these vocalists were up to 
their usual standard of excellence. It was 
on the second day, in "Judas," that I 

made a profound impression. When I 
appeared on the platform to sing, the 
audience and orchestra, according to the 
Musical World, "received him with thun- 
ders of applause, the former indeed 'ris- 
ing at him,' as the pit at Drury Lane 
were wont to do at Kean. The selection 
from 'Judas' comprised the chorus, 'Oh, 
Father, whose Almighty Power;' the re- 
citative and aria, 'Sound an Alarm;' the 
chorus, 'We Hear, we Hear, the Pleasing 
Dreadful Call;' the recitative and air, 
'From Mighty Kings;' the duet and 
chorus, 'Oh never, never Bow we Down;' 
and the trio and chorus, 'See the Con- 
quering Hero Comes.' Mr. Sims Reeves 
created an immense sensation in that 
most stirring of all martial airs, 'Sound 
an Alarm,' and was encored in a hurricane 
of applause." 

Great, however, as was my success 
on this occasion, I attained a crowning 
triumph on the third and concluding 
day. "Israel in Egypt" was the work 
performed; and in it I, according to the 
Musical World, "sang transcendently. He 


literally surpassed himself. His execution 
of 'The Enemy Said' was, indeed, the 
great vocal feat of the festival. It even 
went beyond 'Sound an Alarm,' in 'Judas 

At each succeeding triennial festival 
until 1877 I continued to appear at the 
Crj^stal Palace; now the principal tenor 
music at these magnificent celebrations 
is entrusted to other artists. 

In June 1862, I undertook the prin- 
cipal part in a cantata by Mr. Balfe, on 
the subject of "Mazeppa." The work 
had been composed specially for me and 
was produced by me at one of his own 
concerts. The cantata had no lasting 
success. We read, nevertheless, in the 
chronicles of the time, that "piece after 
piece was applauded with warmth and 
unanimity," and that Mazeppa s first air, 
in particular, was received with great 
demonstrations of delight. 

In 1864 I appeared at Her Maje- 
sty's Theatre in "Faust," then at the 
very zenith of its popularity; when I 
succeeded in a part in which so many 


tenors have sought to distinguish them- 

"Mr. Sims Reeves," wrote one of the 
best critical journals of that day, "is, as 
an accomplished oratorio-singer must be, 
great in recitative. His excellence in this 
respect enables him to put an interest in 
the opening scene which it has hitherto 
lacked. His utterance of the soliloqu}' 
of the old philosopher is full of points 
which reveal a dramatic instinct. This, 
added to the splendid energy which he 
throws into the closing duet with Meplii- 
stopheles, brings the first act into its proper 
degree of prominence, and saves the story 
from seeming, what most representations 
have made it, a love tale, and nothing 
more. In the more exciting scenes he is 
not less successful. No other singer that 
we know unites the two quahties of de- 
clamatory vigour and tenderness of ex- 
pression. Both of these are wanted to 
make a complete Faust, and in virtue of 
this combination, all question of acting 
apart, it must be allowed that no per- 
formance of the music has yet come up 



to his. Mr. Reeves, moreover, was in 
exceptionally 'good voice' on Saturday 
last; his tone was magnificent. May 
this happy state of his larynx continue 
till all musical London has been to 
hear him." 



'sRhe North Headland lighthouse is a 
1:^ conspicuous object on the rugged 
Yorkshire coast. Fenced in by a granite 
breakwater it stands upon a rocky reef 
which renders navigation particularly 
dangerous: indeed, at low water no ves- 
sel save the smallest dare venture near 
the hidden Bar: and when a south-east 
gale blows, the captains of storm-tossed 
ships give the light house a very wide 

At one time the beacon light was in 
charge of a woman: a thing without 
precedent in lighthouse annals, and her 
storj^ came to my knowledge during a 


summer vacation spent in wanderings 
along the wild coast; I may mention 
here the fact, that it was my own ex- 
perience of a terrible storm between St. 
Katherine's dock and New-castle-on-Tyne, 
Avhich suggested the energy and ex- 
pression, wherewith I have usually sung 
the "Bay of Biscay. 

Some years previous to my visit the 
lighthouse was tenanted by one Susan 
Williams and her brother. He was 
nominally the light house keeper; but 
the chief duties of the post devolved 
upon her, and she performed them in 
right workmanlike fashon. 

She was a reserved, thoughtful woman, 
some 30 years old, handsome, and with 
manners above her station; always wear- 
ing black in memory of her husband, 
whom she had loved devotedly. Mrs. 
Williams yet declined to consider herself 
a widow. John Williams, her husband, 
the last keeper of the lighthouse, had 
unaccountably disappeared four years pre- 
viously and as time passed the mystery 
surrounding his fate seemed to deepen. 



He had been a saturnine, gloomy- 
tempered man, considerably older than 
his wife, who, when he wedded her, was 
a bright lovely girl. That a couple so 
distinctly opposite in disposition could 
marry, was a matter of surprise to all who 
knew them; but she seemed to worship 
him and they got on fairly well together 
until his mysterious disappearance. 

Diligent search was made for him 
round the coast, but without result; and 
Susan Williams at her own earnest re- 
quest was allowed to assume the post 
and duties of lighthouse-keeper with her 
brother as assistant. 

All agreed, that the missing John 
Williams had been accidentally drowned, 
but his wife held . firmly to the belief 
that he was still alive: "He will return," 
was her sole answer to all suggestions 
of his death and "he will return" became 
the one cheering thought of her existence. 

Vigilant and untiring was the watch 
she kept; in the bright dawn or when 
the silver moon rode high, did she, as her 
duties permitted, seat herselt in a little 

nook beneath the lantern and gaze far 
out to sea with yearning eyes, that found 
not what they sought. 

At last there came a day, when the 
good ship Marco Polo was homeward 
bound with a miscellaneous and valuable 
cargo; she was a stout vessel of some 
600 tons burthen, with a crew of foui-teen 
hands. Her captain, like herself, had 
weathered many a storm, and under full 
sail with a stern breeze the Marco Polo 
made a quick passage home. 

But ere she came in sight of the 
North-Headland the wind changed and 
blew with violence from the south-east: 
and being low tide, she lay to, await- 
ing its rising, ere venturing to cross the 
dangerous Bar. 

Night darkened over sea and land 
and the gale increased in force, till it 
became a hurricane; while wind and 
wave struggled fiercely for the mastery. 

The captain of the "Marco Polo" 
knew well the neighbourhood of that 
cruel reef; and exhorted his crew to 
prepare for the woist. The masts were 


cut away and fell over the side; while 
the port and starboard anchors being 
let go, the fated ship strove to defy the 

But suddenly the cables parted, as a 
tremendous wave struck the vessel, send- 
ing her almost on her beam- ends; the 
struggle was ended and the "Marco Polo" 
a helpless log, drifted to her fate upon 
the deadly reef. The captain and crew 
lashed themselves to spars and rigging; 
another great wave lifted the hapless 
bark, then dashed her upon the pitiless 
rocks and the waters rioted in exultant 
fury around their hapless prey. 

"Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank. 
"Ho! Ho! the breakers roared." 

The storm died down and over the 
vast expanse nothing was visible save 
that gleam of the warning light; soon, 
however, the dawn broke and Susan 
Williams, who had watched the tempest 
with white face and wildly beating heart, 
still sat in her nook beneath the light- 
house lantern, but her eyes were weary 
with her terrible watch and her ears yet 


filled with the shrieks of the drowning 
crew, as they went down with their 
gallant ship. 

Far out on the bar, but visible ir; 
the dim light, she suddenly descried an 
object, that rose and fell upon the tossing 
waves and drifted towards the shore. 

Presently it came nearer and she could 
distinguish the outlines of a human form. 

"It is a man lashed to a spar" said 
Susan to herself. Rising she seized a boat- 
hook and a coil of rope and rapidly 
descended the Hghthouse stair. Stepping 
out on to the lower gallery, she saw that 
the object she was in search of, had 
reached the inner current washing the 
foundations of the lighthouse and would 
speedily be hurled against them. Swiftly 
she clambered down the rocks, boat-hook 
in hand, near to where the survivor of 
the wreck (if survivor he was) drifted. 
As the spar to which he was lashed 
came within reach, she endeavoured 
to fix the hook into it, but a great 
wave striking her, she was forced back 
upon the rocks, while the boat-hook 


snapped in her hands. Quickly recover- 
iDg herself, however, she unfastened the 
coil from round her waist and forming 
a noose, secured the broken boat-hook 
to it and cast it lasso -wise towards the 
drowning sailor. 

By Heaven's mercy it caught in a 
loop of the rope, that bound him to the 
spar, and she exerted all her strength to 
draw him to the ledge of rock, where 
she was stationed; but here the current 
was against her and she soon saw, that 
her only hope lay in getting the spar 
into the smooth water on the other side, 
when she could easily draw it to land. 

Creeping gradually around the ledge 
and keeping firm hold of the rope, as the 
object of her care floated with the swell 
of the tide, at length it was drawn into 
a hollow, formed by the rocks, and with 
one strong pull she hauled it in and made 
fast the rope to a stanchion of the gallery. 
Ere this her brother, who had been com- 
pelled to attend to the lantern, which 
had been damaged by a frightened sea- 
bird during the storm, appeared on the 

scene, and between them tlioy carried 
the insensible stranger into the Hghthouse. 
Restoratives were at hand, and he soon 
gave signs of returning animation. But 
before he did so, she had recognised him 
and knew that her semi -widowhood was 
ended, for in the shipwrecked outcast 
she discovered her lost husband John 

It afterwards transpired that Williams 
under one of these curious impulses, which 
sometimes seize men, causing them to 
desert their families and live a secluded 
life for years in the next street, had taken 
an opportunity when on leave of joining 
the ship Marco Polo, then outward bound, 
had been with her ever since, having 
risen to the rank of mate, and probably 
but for the storm and consequent wreck, 
his faithful, long expectant wife might 
never have seen or heard of him again. 




inging in all parts of England and 
in all kinds of music, I gradually 
became convinced, that some stand must 
be made on behalf of singers, against the 
constantly increasing rise in the pitch; 
and in December 1868, I addressed the 
following letter on the subject to the 
editor of the Athenaeum: 

"Sir, — I read with great interest your 
comment upon Miss Hauck's Amiria at 
Covent Garden "that it is high time the 
pitch of our orchestras should be adapted 


fco the normal diapason" used in France 
and Germany. Your complaint is one 
which I have strenuously and repeatedly, 
although in vain up to the present, in- 
sisted upon; and I can only trust, now 
that so influential a paper in musical 
circles as yours has taken up the sub- 
ject, that your complaint will meet with 
greater attention than my individual re- 
iteration of it. 

"Not only foreigners accustomed to 
foreign orchestras will be indebted to 
you for thus protesting against, as you 
most truly remark, "the human voice — ■ 
the most delicate of all instruments — 
being sacrificed to the false brilliancy 
attained by perpetually forcing up the 
pitch," but also English artistes generally. 
And, as you truly remark, "the pitch in 
this country is half a tone higher than 
that of most foreign orchestras, and a 
whole tone higher than it was in the 
time of Gluck." 

"So strong is my conviction upon this 
subject that some time back I intimated 
to the Committee of the Sacred Harmonic 



Society my final decision — and, notwith- 
standing grave reasons for my coming to 
a contrary determination — not to sing for 
that Society so long as the pitch of the 
orchestra was maintained at its present 
lieight, and until it was as you suggest, 
"assimilated to the normal diapason of 
France." J. Sims Reeves. 

Geange Mount, Beulah Spa, 
Upper Norwood, Nov. lOi/t. 
Some time afterwards returning to 
the subject I addressed to the Athenseum 
a second letter, which ran as follows: — 
Grange Mount, Beulah Spa, 

Upper Norwood. 
It is very painful to me to be dragged 
into something like a public controversy 
by the personal remarks of your musical 
critic, as to my being "the main cause 
of an agitation that has led only to 
confusion and discord," etc. No reform 
of standing abuses can be effected without 
a certain measure of debate. There are 
always opposing influences that must be 
overcome; and temporary strife may be 
well purchased by the final advance of 


the true interests of art. Uniformity, 
this gentleman assures us, can only be 
secured by legislative enactment as in 
France. This may be so; but though 
we are law-abiding people, we do not 
fly to a central authority on all occasions, 
and I almost fear that musical art is not 
yet quite sufficiently valued in this country 
for a legislative enactment of such a kind, 
to be within the range of immediate pro- 
babilities. We must then, as individuals, 
do what we can and may, and I for 
one am willing to incur the charge of 
interested motives, which your musical 
critic, not very graciously perhaps, urges 
against me, if thereby I promote the 
cause of art and benefit my admirable 
fellow-artistes, both English and foreign. 
And now to answer the allegations urged 
against me as briefly as possible. 

1. — I really cannot take upon myself 
the credit for the reduction of organ 
pitch at Birmingham, because it is no- 
torious that this was an absolute necessity 
(and letters in my possession from the 
managers prove it) in order to conform 

the pitch to the reduced one at Drury 

2. — I can undertake to prove, if need 
be J by the works in my possession, that 
the pitch in Italy and Germany has never 
been so high as that of Sir Michael Costa. 
I may mention in this connection that 
my esteemed friend, Herr Joachim, plays 
on a different violin in Germany, with 
thicker strings. Here he brings one with 
thinner strings to suit the abnormal pitch. 
This one fact would be conclusive as to 
the continental usage in the eyes of un- 
prejudiced enquirers. 

3. — If an unreasonable pitch was per- 
sisted in to the eleventh hour, and a 
sudden change then carried out and 
disasters evoked at Birmingham, as your 
contributor alleges, I can surely in no 
sense be held responsible. The chief 
artistes at Drury Lane had previously 
forced a reasonable reduction of the 
pitch on Sir Michael Costa. If this re- 
form had been steadily adhered to, there 
could have been no confusion and no 
disasters at Birmingham or elsewhere. 


4. — I declare unequivocally, and for 
the twentieth time, that I only ask for 
the pitch of Donzelli, David, Duprez, 
and Nourrit. I most entirely concur 
with that great composer Mendelssohn 
that to transpose airs in oratorios is highly 
objectionable. I am convinced that Handel, 
Mendelssohn and all other masters felt 
the colour as it were of the keys they 
wrote and write in. Hence I am always 
unwilling to transpose; and that is just 
why I wish to secure the normal pitch, 
which will render transposing unnecessary. 

5. — With respect to those great artistes, 
Madame Patti and Madame Nilsson, it is 
wholly unnecessary for me to vindicate 
their course of action, and I cannot but 
express my surprise at the liberty of 
comment which your musical critic has 
allowed himself, with regard to the latter 
artiste more especially. Unpleasant per- 
sonalities are surely out of place in 
the discussion of public interests, where 
private likes and dislikes should be wholly 
set aside. I need only further observe 
that the pitch at Hereford was tuned to 


that, accepted now both at Covent Garden 
and Drury Lane. 

I have no delusion on the subject of 
pitch; uniformity is doubtless most desi- 
rable, but it must not be uniformity in 
that which is abnormal and extraordinary. 
The pertinacity of my old friend, Sir 
Michael Costa, has alone so long retarded 
this essential reform, which, however, may 
now be said to have carried the day 
finally. To the very personal concluding- 
remarks of your contributor I have only 
to reply, that I am quite willing to accept 
his assurance of good will, and to re- 
cognize his past assertions, that I neces- 
sarily am the chief loser by my inability 
at times to fulfil my engagements, whether 
to directors or to the public. Nobody can 
regret, need I say, as deeply as I do, the 
practical extinction of voice from which 
I sometimes suffer; the kind and art-lov- 
ing public will understand, I am sure, 
that I have made great pecuniary sacri- 
fices, because I did not like to take pay 
for services which I could not discharge 
so as to do justice to the music I was 

called upon to perform. Personal ex- 
planations are always painful things; to 
me, I may say, peculiarly so. It is certain 
I never disappoint the public without be- 
ing far more grievously disappointed my- 
self; but our frequent changes of tem- 
perature are most trying, and no care 
or caution can guarantee me against 
occasional attacks which prohibit me for 
a season to leave the house, and yield 
my public services to that art, which it 
is the highest ambition of my soul to 
forward by all the legitimate means 
within my reach. 

J. Sbis Reeves. 

This question of pitch brings me 
naturally enough to the Handel Festival 
of 1877, at which I, for the reasons set 
forth in the above letters, declined to sing. 

At the festivals of 1857 and 1859 
and following until 1877 my singing in 
music, which no ItaHan tenor could at any 
time have made in like manner his own, 
had always been looked forward to with 
no small interest. 

In 1877 the performances were, as 


usual, conducted by Sir Michael Costa, 
who insisted on maintaining the abnorm- 
ally high pitch to which I had so often 
expressed objection, and to which I had 
finally resolved not to conform. It was 
at the festival of 1877, that Mdlle. Albani 
sang for the first time in sacred music; 
and in noticing this event, the Pall Mall 
Gazette passed from what it called the 
"positive novelty," of the festival to its 
"negative novelty" "If the appearance 
of Mdlle. Albani in oratorio," said this 
journal, "was the greatest positive novelty 
in yesterday's performance, there was a 
novelty also of a negative kind, which 
cannot be passed over. Mr. Sims Heeves, 
our greatest singer, and one who is 
especially great in sacred music, was 
not among the artistes engaged; though 
in justice to the directors of the festival, 
it must be added that he was one of the 
first to whom an engagement was offered. 
That terrible question of 'pitch,' which has 
caused so much annoyance, and which 
might so easily be settled by our con- 
forming in England, as in all the principal 


continental countries, to tlie 'normal 
diapason' of France, is understood to 
have been connected with Mr. Sims 
Reeves' unwillingness to sing. To re- 
place the first of living tenors was rather 
a formidable undertaking." 

"In recording the close of this year's 
festival," wrote the Daily News critic on 
the same occasion, "it is impossible to 
avoid expressing a feeling of regret (such 
as must widely have been experienced) at 
the absence of Mr. Sims Reeves, whose co- 
operation has been so important a feature 
at each of the previous celebrations. No 
single individual has so especially identi- 
fied himself with the tenor solo music of 
Handel; which heretofore was probably 
never — and perhaps hereafter may never 
again be — so finely rendered as by him. 
His transcendent merits as an exponent 
of the pathos, dignity, and declamatory 
grandeur, intended by the composer (but 
so rarely realised by the interpreter), will 
long live in the memory of the appre- 
ciative section, now a large majority, 
of the musical public. These remarks 


imply no disparagement of other excellent 
English tenors, who have obtained deserv- 
ed eminence as Handelian singers. They 
themselves would be the first to admit 
the supremacy which has long been main- 
tained by Mr. Reeves." 

Many as have been my successes in 
Italian Opera and Oratorio, I never achiev- 
ed a greater triumph than that which 
I obtained at the end of 1878 and the 
beginning of 1879 at Covent Garden, in 
the "Beggar's Opera," the "Waterman," 
and other English works of the I same 
class. "On the occasion of playing Captairi 
Macheath in the 'Beggar's Opera,' the 
house," wrote Pimch, "was literally cram- 
med from floor to ceiling by an audience, 
whose enthusiastic temperature increased 
in a graduated thermometrical scale, the 
over-boiling point being reached at the 
back row of the upper gallery; and this 
on a night when, in the stalls and boxes, 
wrappers, fur-mantles, and ulsters, were 
de rigueur on account of de rigour of the 
cold, and when the Messrs. Gatti might 
have made a considerable addition to 


their good fortune by sending round the 
attendants with a supply of footwarmers, 
hot toddy, and mulled claret, and other 
popular drinks at cheap prices. There 
he was bright and gay as ever, our tenner 
still unchanged, and equal to any number 
of the most valuable notes. 

"^n passant, the public has an idea, 
that Mr. Sims Reeves is 'a bird who can 
sing,' and often capriciously 'won't sing.' 
Some even go so far as to ask, 'Can't 
he be made to sing?' No one wishes 
more sincerely than himself that on the 
occasion, when he is forced to refuse, he 
could be 'made to sing.' It is no pleasure 
to any man to lose money by being com- 
pelled to cancel an engagement which 
is entered into on the play and pay 
principle; and it cannot but be an un- 
speakable, or in his case unsingable dis- 
appointment to thousands who 'hang on 
his lips.' It is no more a pleasure for 
a distinguished tenor to be laid up with 
a bad throat, than for a one-legged 
dancer, a la Donato, to be prostrated by 
the gout in his one solitary foot. 


"Let those who do not believe in a 
'comic tenor,' see Sims Reeves as CajJt. 
Maclieath, and they will then discover 
what magic there is even in a refrain 
of 'tol de rol, lol de rol, loddy,' when 
given by a tenor who is not impressed 
by the absurd traditional nation, that he 
is nothing if not sentimental." 

"His acting of the celebrated song, 
'How happy would I be with either,' is 
full of humour, and his change of manner 
from 'tol de rol' in a tender tone, when 
addressed to the gentle confiding Polly, 
to 'tol de rol' with a true cockney chick- 
a-leary twang, when addressed to the 
vulgar Lucy Lockitt, is a clever idea, most 
artistically carried out; and then his 
dance up the stage while singing, giving 
his last note good and true to the end 
in spite of this unaccustomed exertion, 
as with a jump he seats himself in a 
natural, devil-may-care style on the table, 
was followed by an encore, so momentous, 
that even he, the anti-encorist , was fain 
to comply with the enthusiastic demand; 
so he repeated the two verses, the dance, 

and the jump, with as much freshness 
and vigour as though he had not already 
sung six songs — snatches more or less it 
is true — and had got ten more to follow, 
with 'Here's to the Maiden of Bashful 
Fifteen,' and a dance by way of finale.'''' 

Of the numerous tenors who have 
lately appeared at our two opera houses, 
there is not one, whom the public would 
go specially to hear, as they go to hear 
the prima donnas, and as they went for- 
merly to hear Signor Mario. Nor, indeed, 
has any really attractive tenor introduced 
himself to the world since the retirement 
of Signor Mario. 

It is only necessary to glance at no 
matter w^hat history of the opera, to see 
that for one favourite baritone, for two 
or three favourite tenors, there have 
been half a dozen favourite prima donnas. 
At one time and another a great deal 
of enthusiasm has been called forth by 
the singing of tenors; though tenors have 
never, perhaps, attained the supreme 
honour of causing such bitter animosities, 
such deadly feuds, as those which raged 

in England between the partisans of 
Faustina and of Cnzzoni; in France be- 
tween the "Maratistes," or enthusiastic 
admirers of Madame Mara, and the "To- 
distes," or fanatical devotees of Mdlle. 
Todi. Even now the comparative merits 
of Patti and Albani, of Gerster and 
Nilsson, in the same parts, are discussed 
very much more warmly than those of 
NicoHni and Campanini, of Gayarre and 
de Reszke. But that proceeds from the 
fact, that of great tenors just now there 
is an absolute dearth. There has been 
for some time past a decided fall in 
tenors; not that there is no demand for 
the article, but because the demand, which 
really exists, cannot be supplied. For in 
art, the great principle which rules in 
commerce does not hold good. On the 
contrary, instead of the demand creating 
the supply, it is the supply which creates, 
or at least stimulates the demand. Quo- 
tations for first-rate prima donnas were 
never so high as they are now; yet never 
before were prima donnas so numerous. 
No one, on the other hand, goes to the 


Italian Opera to hear a tenor; simply 
because there are none there of the 
highest distinction to hear. The Italian 
tenor is to the Italian pima donna just 
now much what, in the days of the ballet, 
the principal male dancer was to the 
jjrima ballerina. 

Much has been written about the high 
prices paid in the present day to leading- 

Siguor Tamagno, of the Scala Theatre, 
Milan, has been engaged by the impresario 
Ferrari for a sum of 700,000 fr. (;£;28,000), 
to make fifty appearances in the character 
of Otello in Verdi's new opera, being at 
the rate of 14,000 fr. (i^ 560) for each 
appearance. The contract is for an 
operatic tour in South America, and the 
rate of remuneration is said to be the 
highest on record. 

Formerly, it is true, singers gained 
smaller salaries; but they led easier lives, 
enjoyed longer careers, and had fewer 
expenses. When a tenor of the ultra- 
robust school has to shout John of Leyden's 
"Morning Hymn" at the top of his voice, 


and to yell Manrico's "Song of War" at 
the risk of ruining his upper notes, he 
surely deserves to be better paid (not 
that the performance is more difficult, 
but because it is more dangerous) than 
if he had only to warble the airs of 
Cimarosa and Rossini. Singing the music 
of Meyerbeer and Verdi, he knows that 
his notes, if not his days, are numbered, 
and charges accordingly. 

Then think how every tenor, who 
wishes at all times to do his best, must 
regulate his life, must protect his valuable 
throat against all possible and impossible 
draughts. He eats in the most sparing 
manner, when all London sets him down 
as a glutton; drinks nothing but claret 
and water, when by universal consent 
he is a flaming, fiery drunkard. You get 
your feet wet, are hoarse, and are well 
the next day. The more delicate, more 
susceptible tenor gets his feet wet, is 
hoarse, and is not well the next day; 
and so long as he is unable to sing, not 
only loses his money — if he happens to 
be a concert singer — but is usually 


regarded as an impostor, because he 
frankly and conscientiously declines to 
torture the oars of a public, which he 
has been in the habit of delighting. 
Tenors have their faults like other men. 
But they can scarcely, with any fairness, 
be accused of irregular habits. There is 
tio profession, indeed, which demands 
such absolute regularity of life, such 
punctuality in the performance of duties, 
as that of an actor, and above all, of a 
singer; who, besides his general health, 
has his voice — often a very delicate one 
— to think of. Indeed, the care the tenor 
takes of himself, amounts in many cases 
to fastidiousness. 

The Italian tenor, like tenors in general, 
is scarcely ever irregular in the ordinary 
English sense of the word, but he is often 
superstitious; believes, for instance, in 
good and bad days, in lucky and unlucky 
numbers. Signor Mario had once been 
asked to sing at a private house — a sort 
of thing which never pleased him much, 
and which was particularly distasteful to 
him on this occasion, because he was not 



personally acquainted with the hostess. 
A very distinguished composer, however, 
had promised to bring him, and one 
Thursday evening, after a performance 
at the Royal Italian Opera, called at the 
theatre to take him to Belgrave Square, 
where the party was to be given. It was 
already nearly midnight, and such a long 
line of carriages blocked the way to the 
house, that before the vehicle, which 
contained Mario, could get to the door, 
twelve o'clock had struck. The eminent 
but superstitious tenor was much discon- 
certed when it occurred to him that it was 
now Friday, and that on this day of ill 
omen he was about to sing for the first 
time at a place entirely new to him. When 
the carriage arrived in front of the house, 
and he saw that the number on the door 
was 13, distrust became fear, and he 
absolutely refused to sing at No. 13 on 
a Friday. This "double event" would 
have been too much for him; and after 
the distinguished composer had argued 
with hhn for some five or six minutes, 
the tenor pronounced the magic word 


•'home," and was driven to his own house. 
The distinguished composer was in despair 
at having failed to get Signor Mario to 
the party. He told the hostess precisely 
what had occurred; but, far from believ- 
ing the story, the lady replied, that it 
was very kind of the composer to make 
so ingenious an excuse for his friend, 
but that she knew precisely what had 
happened. Signor Mario, she said, had 
arrived in a state of total intoxication, 
and the composer, after arguing with 
him for ten minutes, and endeavouring 
to persuade him not to show himself in 
so disgraceful a condition, had at last 
succeeded in inducing him to go home. 
"When he is on his travels, especially 
in our capricious, changeable climate, 
the tenor does really incur risks; and 
the care these delicate-voiced singers are 
obliged to take of their valuable throats 
is something incredible to those w^ho have 
not witnessed it. There are some tenors 
who seem to keep themselves constantly 
enveloped, as if in cotton- wool; and I 
have known more than one who would 

not start even on the shortest journej^, 
but he must take with hhn a collection 
of scarves, wrappers, and other bandages. 
Notwithstanding some drawbacks, the 
position of a tenor is, all the same, a 
fine one; and if the great tenors are 
disappearing, it cannot be said that such 
enthusiasm, as they were wont to excite, 
is now called forth by baritones or basses. 
Of late years, as I have had occasion to 
remark elsewhere, not one of the nume- 
rous ItaHan tenors, who have appeared 
since the retirement of Signor Mario, has 
made sufficient mark to cause enquiries 
as to his whereabouts during the eight 
autumn and winter months, which in the 
eyes of operatic habitues constitute the 
dull period of the jei\r. . . . From a long- 
list of basses — serious and comic — many 
good names could, no doubt, be cited; but 
not one would carry with it anything 
like the weight, which was once attached 
to the illustrious name of Lablache. It 
may be said that Lablaches, Tamburinis, 
Marios, and Rubinis, are not all to be 
expected at the same time. But it is a 

fact that those very artistes, each in his 
own walk a type of excellence, did for 
many years form part of the same com- 
pany; that in those days operatic troupes 
did not owe whatever importance, they 
might possess, to the prima donna alone; 
in a word, that operas were represented 
with more completeness — at least as 
regards vocalisation — than can be se- 
cured for them now. Our orchestral re- 
sources have greatly increased during 
the past five and twenty or thirty years; 
and it would be impossible in the present 
day to assume, as in the year 1846, when 
the great secession from Her Majesty's 
Theatre took place, that only one operatic 
band of fine quality could be maintained 
in London. It is undeniable, too, that 
operatic vocalists abound, and that their 
numbers, counting only those of more 
than average merit, are constantly in- 
creasing. Yet, if all Mr. Harris's and all 
Mr. Mapleson's singers were put together, 
it would be impossible to select from 
among them such a quartet as that, for 
which Bellini composed "II Puritani" 


(Grisi, Rubini, Tamburiiii, Lablaelie), or 
that almost identical one (with Mario in 
the place of Rnbini), for which, some 
years later, Donizetti composed "Don 
Pasquale." Lablache is one of the strik- 
ing figures in modern operatic history; 
and his Don Pasquale, his Bartolo in the 
"Barber of Seville," his Leporello in "Don 
Giovanni," made a lasting impression on 
those, who saw and heard him in those 
parts. As for Tamburini, is it not written 
in the annals of Her Majesty's Theatre, 
that a violent demonstration was once 
made by the aristrocratic habitues of 
the establishment, because, at the beginn- 
ing of the season, when it was held that 
Tamburini should have been engaged, 
Coletti Avas substituted? We have Mr. 
Carlyle's authority for saying, that Signor 
Coletti was a very superior person; 
though it appeared to this strange and 
not too sympathetic critic, that the 
baritone he chanced to hear on the 
occasion of his first and last visit to the 
opera, would have done well to adopt 
some profession more useful to the world. 

than that of a dramatic vocalist. In any 
case, Signor Coletti was a singer of 
considerable reputation, which did not 
prevent his being held of no importance 
whatever, compared with the admired 
Tamburini. The remarkable thing, how- 
ever, in the matter is, not that one of 
two baritones should have been thought 
better than the other, but that the question 
of their respective merits should have 
been thought worth quarrelHng about. 
Yet the Tamburini -Coletti disturbance 
attracted the attention of all London, 
and was thought sufficiently important 
to be made the subject of an "Ingoldsby 

If, in spite of the increased favour 
with which opera is generally regarded, 
we possess few eminent basses, and can 
name no baritones, whose conflicting 
claims to supremacy would be likely to 
cause popular commotion, the case of 
the tenors is still more deplorable. Once 
the spoilt children of the Italian lyric 
drama, these unhappy vocalists are now 
of no account whatever. Their chief 


airs, their final scenes, are either omitted 
by the conductor, or, worse still, are 
neglected by the public. When, as they 
frequently do, commit suicide on the 
stage, they die, if not in silence, at 
least in solitude. There was a time when 
playgoers would no more have quitted a 
representation of "Lucia," without waiting 
for the dying strains of the hero, than 
it would now take its departure before 
the delirium of the heroine has set in. 
At present the moonlit cemetery has 
hardly been "discovered," the four horns 
have only just had time to prove their 
inability to play the few bars assigned 
to them, when the majority of the 
audience arise to depart, and long be- 
fore Edgardo expires, that vacuum has 
been created in the audience department, 
which nature and tenors equally abhor. 
If Gennaro's self-inflicted death is still 
witnessed by an unwilling, or at least 
an unenthusiastic public, it must be re- 
membered that in this instance the tenor 
scene is followed by a scene for the 
prima donna, and the prima donna is not 


only as great a favourite as ever, but is 
often the only member of an operatic 
cast, to whom every sort of favour is 
shown. For her exchisively is reserved 
the admiration which was formerly shar- 
ed by the lyrima donna, contralto, tenor, 
baritone and bass. 

In these matters there is no dictating 
to the public; but, whatever the fact may 
signify, a fact it is, that whereas Madame 
Patti, Madame Nilsson, Madame Albani, 
and Madame Gerster are sought for in 
all countries, and travel in the character 
of stars to the most distant lands, none 
in any part of the world seem to care 
much for the voice of any tenor, baritone, 
or bass now on the Italian operatic stage. 
Thus the prima donna is assuming more 
and more every day the position which, 
immediately before the dechne and fall 
of the ballet, was held in a sister art 
(though doubtless an inferior one) hj the 
jiremiere danseuse. Tenor, baritone, and bass 
are still desirable and almost necessary, 
though perhaps not absolutely indispen- 
sable, for her complete success. But she 


— her singing, her acting, and in some 
measure her personal appearance — seems 
to be accepted as the chief end and ob- 
ject of operatic performances; and insen- 
sibly the delusion is gaining ground, that 
instead of the prima donna having been 
educated to sing in operas, operas have 
been composed for prima donnas to sing in. 

In taking a temporary leave of the 
reader I refer with pleasure to the ap- 
pendix attached hereto. 

Temporary I say, for whatever I may 
yet do in the domain of song, I purpose 
during the Jubilee year of my professional 
career as a vocalist — 1889 — to enlarge 
these reminiscences with, I hope, increased 
interest to my friends. 


From the Aberdeen Journal. 

JO eturning thanks the other night to 
.^'V a crowded audience in Edinburgh 
Theatre Royal, for many favours, past 
and present, Mr. J. L. Toole, the popular 
actor, referred to the circumstance that, 
like Mr. Sims Reeves and Mr. Henry 
Irving, he had at a very early period 
of his career sought professional honours 
in the Scottish metropolis, and that the 
weekly salaries of the three friends in the 
respective years of their novitiate might 
be thus put down: — the Singer, 30s; 


the Comedian, 40s; the Tragedian, 50s. 
each per week. "Of course," added Mr. 
Toole, amid much laughter, "we get 
more now." No doubt of it, and the 
reminiscence is a pleasant one; not more 
agreeable or interesting, however, than 
the recollection of the night upon which 
the great English tenor, who is to bid us 
farewell this evening in the Music Hall, 
sang his first song in Aberdeen. He has 
been here frequently since then, and 
some of us have heard him over and 
over again on very notable occasions in 
oratorio, opera, and concert -room; but 
none of these after-appearances can efface 
the "bloom of youth" feeling and freshness 
which hang around the 25th September, 
1843. Just to a day, you see, reader, 
thirty-eight years bygone; and that day, 
this day, Monday. Here is the date, 
with outline of the entertainment by 
printed bill of the day: — 

Aberdeen Theatre Royal. 
Mr. Lloyd, of the Theatre Eoyal, Edinhurgh, 
begs most respectfully to inform the nobility, gentry, 
and the public of Aberdeen and vicinity that, having 


entered into an arrangement witli the proprietors of 
the ahove theatre, he will have the honour of opening' 
it for TWO NIGHTS ONLY, on which occasion the 
following ladies and gentlemen will appear: — 

Mr, John Reeves. 

Of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane; and the Nobilities' 

Concerts, London: and Theati-e Royal, Edinburgh. 

His first appearance here. 

]\rr. Sam Cowell, Mr. Leigh, Mr. Lloyd, Miss Clara 

Lee, and Mrs. Leigh, all of the Theatre Royal, 

Edinburgh, and fi'ist appearance here. 

On Monday Evening, 25th September, 1843, the 
Performances will commence with 

The Two Gregories. 

Mr. Gregory with Song of "The Cork Leg" Mr. S. Cowell. 
Gregory . . with Song of "Cock Robin" . . Mr. Lloyd. 
John Bull . with Song of "The Thorn" Mr. J. Reeves. 

La France Mr. Leigh. 

Mrs. Gregory Miss C. Lee | Fanchette . . Mrs. Leigh. 


Ballad "My Pretty Jane," . . . Mr. Reeves. 

Comic Song . . "The Country Fair," . . . Mr. Lloyd. 

Ballad "Lovely Night," .... Mrs. Leigh. 

Song "Jenny Jones," .... Mr. Leigh. 

Comic Song . . . "Lord Lovel," . . . Mr. S. Cowell. 
Ballad . . "I wish that Young Fellow," . . Mrs. Leig-h. 


Nautical Scona . . "Tlie White Squall,"' . . ^[r. Reeves. 

Comic Soiif? 'Billy Barlow,'" . . . Mr. Cowell. 

To conclude with the farce of "The Young Widow.'" 

Boxes, 2s.-, Pit Is.; Gallery, Gd. — No second price. 

Doors open at 7: to commence at 8 o'clock. 

The introdnctoiy part of the bill, it 
will be observed, is quite in the style of 
Sam Gerridge of "Caste." and bears the 
then current true trade circular ring- 
about it. As will be readily surmised, 
the ladies and gentlemen named con- 
stituted a portion of the stock compan}' 
of the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, then 
under famous Manager Murray; but that 
house being temporarily closed, our visit- 
ors were doing a little bit of countrj^ 
strolling -player business on their own 
account. While undoubtedly Mr. Lloyd 
was the best known of the party — his 
rare talent as a low comedian having 
earl}^ won him much popularity — the 
other names were all more or less fami- 
liar, and the advent of the "Edinburgh 
stars" was looked forward to with con- 
siderable interest. All the more was this 
the case from Aberdeen having seen 


nothing to speak of in the dramatic 
way for many months. Our theatre had 
no lessee then, and it will be noticed 
that the Lloyd arrangement was made 
with the proprietors. 

Well, the 25th September came, and 
a goodly audience assembled in the "Old 
House in Marischal Street," eager for the 
entertainment — the majority of those 
present being, we may say, musically 
inclined — the concert portion of the 
programme promising, of course, special 
delights to that body. When, however, 
a quarter to eight o'clock arrived and 
nothing in the shape or sound of an 
orchestra put in an appearance, a whisper 
began to pass along that something or 
somebody was out of joint. Then, at 
eight o'clock, with no response to the 
sharp call for "Fiddlers, fiddlers," the 
doubtful whisper grew into an ominous 
gallery growl; and this again, some ten 
minutes after, into bad humour, with 
significant noises. Suddenly the promp- 
ter's bell was heard, and immediate 
silence following, Mr. Lloyd stepped in 


front with a bill in his hand, and apolo- 
getic gravity — of a kind — concentrated 
all over one side of his expressive face. 
In two or three sentences he explained 
that, through order of the magistrates, 
the fact had been pointed out to him 
that, by a clause in the recently passed 
Act for the regulation of public enter- 
tainments, it was impossible for the 
company to enter upon the dramatic 
portion of the entertainment. In short, 
they had no licence for representing 
stage plays; but, continued in effect 
Mr. Lloyd — it so happens that we are 
pretty strong in vocal talent, and if you 
will kindly stay and accept our services 
in that line, Ave shall do our very best 
to make you happy here, and send you 
home satisfied. Warm applause followed 
the well-put words; everybody remained, 
and, of a verity, the speaker and his 
companions kept leal faith with their 
audience. Up went the curtain; a piano 
was drawn well down to the footlights, 
and, with a bow, a keen- faced, dark- 
haired handsome young man took his 


place thereat. This was Mr. John Reeves. 
And what a night of mirth and music 
followed! For two swift hours the old 
house rang with such mingled applause 
and laughter as few present had ever 
heard or helped in before. Audience and 
artistes soon got into admiringly familiar 
terms, and in this frame of mind they 
continued to the close. It is not easy 
now to remember all that was embraced 
in the concert, but at least a dozen songs, 
ballads, and glees, with encores ad lib., 
were given in addition to what is noted 
above. It was the halcyon period of hope 
and strength with the performers. The 
gentlemen were just budding into general 
favour, and they afterwards all attained 
much celebrity in their respective lines 
of professional life. Mr. (now old) Lloyd 
held the first place for years both in 
Edinburgh and Glasgow as a low co- 
median of rare humour and capacity; 
Mr. Sam Cowell's name became a house- 
hold word amongst all who could enjoy 
clever comic singing; Mr. Leigh became, 
as Leigh Murray, the ablest walking- 



gentleman the London stage could boast 
— though sadly and regretfully he threw 
away his proud position. Regarding the 
career of Mr. Sims Reeves, little requires 
to be said. His fame is known to every 
intelligent lover of song in, we may say, 
all English-speaking lands. In the year 
of his first visit to Aberdeen he had just 
reached manhood, and his voice was of 
singular beauty, fine compass, and great 
power. He had not of course acquired 
the intensity of touching expression, the 
finished artistic management of tone, 
with that perfect method of phrasing 
that time and study brought in such 
rich measure; but, as already said, there 
was a charm, a feeling of freshness about 
his singing in now distant 1843, which 
no after efforts have effaced. Mr. Reeves 
did a right good night's work on that 
25 th September. Over and above con- 
tributing five or six songs (including, 
we specially remember, "The Flower 
of Ellerslie" — a lovely bit of music, 
now seldom heard), he presided through- 
out at the piano, accompanying Lloyd 

and Cowell in all their comic ditties, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Leigh in the ballads. 
Perhaps one of the most amusing in- 
cidents of the evening was the render- 
ing of Dr. Calcott's glee "The Red 
Cross Knight," in which Cowell appa- 
rently took the bass, the left hand, 
however, of the pianist providing the 
profounder notes, his voice meanwhile 
ringing out clarion clear in the highset 
leading melod3^ 

Altogether, then, the first evening 
of Mr. Sims Reeves in Aberdeen was a 
musical event to be cherished, and it is 
pleasant to anticipate that his last ap- 
pearance will be worthy of profitable 
remembrance. Charles Lamb, in writ- 
ing of a favourite performer of his day, 
who had been before the public for 
many years, turned a graceful sentence 
by referring to "a voice unstrung by 
age." There is, no doubt, a long, distinct 
span between 1843 and 1881, yet we 
fancy it will be found that the genial 
remark of the gentle Elia applies with 
surprising force to Mr. Sims Reeves, 

should he to-night sing the choice 
ballad of his early days — Sir Henry 
Bishop's always charming and ever chaste 
"Pretty Jane." 

From Schoelcher's "Life of Handel,'' 1857, in the 
"Edinhurgh Revieiv," vol. 106, page 249. 

N. B. — Let it be honourably com- 
memorated, however, - that English artists 
have seldom, if ever, been heard to sing 
with so much of the loftiness and inspi- 
ration that the "Messiah," and "Israel," 
and "Judas," demand, as at Sydenham. 
They were with small exceptions so 
wrought on by the magnificence of the 
scene, as to rise far nearer to the point 
indicated than they ever rose before; 
and one in particular (Mr. Sims Reeves), 
has written his name beneath that of 
Handel in the golden book of musical 
renown, to be read a hundred years 
hence, when new singers arise and new 
celebrations are projected. 


I feel under many obligations to Lady 
Pollock and to Mr. Sutherland Edwards 
for their biographical notices of me, from 
which my memory has derived abundant 
help in this work. With this acknowledg- 
ment I say to my readers 
Au Revoir. 

Printed by C. G. Roder, Leipzig 



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in C and A F. Dempster Sherman Gerard F. Cqbb, net ea. 2 

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Autumn Winds Osman Arthur F. Nye 4 

Ave Maria ('Tenor Solo) Egbert lloberts, net 1 6 

Ave Maria (iviih Violin ohUirjato) Lady Felice 4 

Ave Maria, with Violoncello o?<6%a;o Walter Mackway 4 

Ave Verura. For Alto or Bass, with Flute or 

Violin obhli;/ato) Robert MacHardy 4 

Away to the East Arthur L. Salmon .... Arthur L. Salmon 4 

Beautiful Laud Harris Alleyne Harris Alleyne 4 

Beside a silver sea Sylvia .... Charles Deacon 4 

Beside the Sea Natalie 4 

Better not to know. .Words from " Home Life in Song" 

William H. Hunt 4 

Beware, No. 1 in F, No. 2 in D ..Longfellow G.B.Allen 4 

Beyond the Sea W. S. Holding .... Marie Trannack 4 

Blowhard's Brass Band. Humorous Song 

Frank Amos G. D. Fox 4 

Blue bells in the shade Eliza Cook. .Albert E. Daniell, A.C.O. 4 

Boat Song, with Violin or Flute obblir/ato 

Robert MacHardy . . Robert MacHardy 4 

Bonnie Lassie Robert Allan .... Arthur C. Haden 4 

Bubbles G. F. Allen Lady Borton 4 

By Hook or by Crook Edward Oxenford J, E, Webster 4 

C'est mon ami Walter Spinney .... Edward Rubini 4 

Charlie is my Darling G. Stanhope 4 

Childhood Vows Robert E. Gaj-e .... Robert E, Gaye 4 

Christmas, (A preltij %vitty Bitti/) . . Written and 

sung by Lester Barrett T. A. Barrett 4 

Come away, come away. Death ..Shakespeare.. G. R. Vicars, B. A. 4 

Come back Kate B. Hearder .... Kate B. Hearder 4 

Come back C. Marston Haddock . . Geo. Percy Haddock, 

net 2 

Come forth, Queen (Serenade) Alfred F. Tindall 4 

Come unto Me (Sacred Song) . . Fred. A. Packer .... Fred. A. Packer 4 

Constancy Fred. A. Packer . . . .Fred. A. Packer 4 

Constancy Thomas Hood. . . . W. A. Jefferson 3 (» 

Coyest Maid H. C. Hiller H. C. Hiller 4 

Cushla Machree ('■'■Pulse of my heart''), 

with Chorus for 4 voices Jno. Taylor 4 G 

Days that are to come Cremona 4 

Dear, do not forget Rhoda K. Forbes. . . . Rhoda K. Forbes 4 

Dear harp of my country T. Moore 2 

Devotion R, Browning J. Cliffe Forrester 3 

Distant Voices (with, ohhligato for Violin, Flute, 

or 'Cello ad lib.) Constance Beresford H. E. Warner 4 

Down Channel Claxson Bellamy S. Claude Ridley 4 

Dreaming (Serenade) James Wilkie W\ Mitchell 4 

NEW AND SUCCESSFUL m^GH— continued. 3 

Name of Piece. Words by Composer. s. d. 

Drifting V. L. D. Broughton . .llhoda Broughtou 4 

Eden's Last Sunset E. S. (>. S Hilda Waller 4 

Effie Deans, No. 1 in D, No. 2 in E Cotsford Dick Cotsford Dick 4 

England J. G. L. Bryan Lewis Conway 4 

England, Church and State (Patriotic Sonr/) Vcre Mannering 4 

Evensong George Ernest Lake 4 

Evening T. Baker Cremona 4 

Fair as the Dawn H. Mar S. Emily Oldham 4 

Farewell, dear Love Mrs. Henderson I'rank Austin 4 

Farewell Fred. A, Packer .... Fred. A. Backer 4 

Fealty Charles BuUough. . Erskine Allon, net 2 

Fidelis Adelaide Proctor. .Mrs. Sheffield Neave 4 

Firelight Dreams Edith Gordon Bartlett Edith Gordon Bartlett 4 

Five Songs 11. Sealy Gengc, net 2 G 

Five Songs for Baritone Walter Frere 2 6 

Fleurs D'Ete Gen. Fullerton Carnegie 4 

Fond llemembrance S. Phillips Day D. Saunders 4 U 

Forget me not Fred. A. Packer .... Fred. A, Packer 4 

Forgetnotjiamthine. .Bev.Jocelyn Johnston. .T. Osborn Marks, Mus.D. 4 
For sake of thee. No. 1 in B |2, 

No. 2 in D .' G. Clifton Bingham Everard Hiilton 4 

Forsaken Clara Fitzgerald .... Edgar Musgrave 4 

Four Songs (Album of) . .Arthur Hugh Clough Alan Gray, net 2 6 

Genevieve Samuel Taylor Coleridge Geo. F, Grover 4 

Give one thought to me Staniland. .Henry Stevens Baird 4 

Golden Youth (sunr/ hy Sims Beeves) 

George Ernest Lake . . George Ernest Lake 4 

Gone Stansby . . Frederick J. Karn 4 

Good Bye (Illustrated). 

No. 1 in F, No. 2 in A^ . .Walter Shepherd Walter Shepherd 4 

Gordon's Adieu, No. 1 in C, 

No. 2 in A^^ Major W. B. Lumley. .MajorW.B. Lumley 4 

Great Grandfather . .C. Mackay, LL.D., F.S.A Marie de Corclli 4 (> 

Happy j^et Sinclair Dunn .... Charlton T. Speer 4 < * 

Hark ! the huntsman's echoing horn . . F. Austin F. A\^tin 4 

Hearts once loved Edward Oxeuford Nina Cleathcr 4 

Heavenward Catherine Eowland. . Catherine llowland 4 

Heavenward A. Valdomar. . . . Henry G. Kemp 4 

Her own way M. E. W T. S. Wotton 4 

Her Voice (Ballad ) Edward Oxenford . . . . S. Emily Oldham 4 

He that will not, when he may . . F. E. Weatherly . . Arthur H. AVatson 4 

Hilda's Anchor C. E. G. Waldmann 4 

His Princess. . founded on a story by J. S. Winter Isabel Giberne 4 

Hohenlinden Thomas Campbell. . . .Beg. J. Thompson 4 

Hope L. H. Clemens .... Theo. L. Clemens 4 

How I love her A. H. L Erskine Allon 4 

I arise from dreams of thee Shelley W. Metcalfe 4 

I dream of thee. No. 1 in F, No. 2 in E, No. 3 in D 

(sinir/h)fMr Wm.Parlinson) Claxsoii Bellamy J. E. AVebster 4 


Name of Piece. Words hy Compoaer. s. d. 

I am a little milking maid (Boddice Sonc/ from 

the Blui Lady of Milden Hall, Monilily Packet, 

1880) James Eaden Powell 

If it be love Charles Bullough. . Erskine Allon, net 

I know you know Henry G, Kemp Henry G. Kemp 

I love you best Edward Oxenford. .Geo. Percy Haddock 

InQs Thomas Hood .... "W. A. Jefferson 

Influence, No. 1 in I), No. 2 

in p Edward Carstensen. . Edward Carstensen 

I once had a sweet little doll, 

dears Rev. Charles Kingsley. . . . Mary Shillington 

I saw from the beach T. Moore 

I saw thee weep Bernhard M. Carrodus 

I see thy face Robert MacHardy . .Robert MacHardy 

I shot an arrow Longfellow .... Beatrice Logan 

I wandered by the Brook-side . . Lord Houghton . . Geo. W. F. Crowther 
I watch o'er thee, with Violin ohhligato 

{dedicated hi/ special permission to 

Mr. Sims Beeves) Edward Oxenford. . . .Joseph Spawforth 

If I were a Queen Whyte Melville. .Mrs. Sheffield Keave 

I never loved but thee Charles Millward . . George Staker, net 

I await thee A. F. Tindall A. F. Tindall 

If thou art sleeping, maiden Longfellow Edward Hake 

ilka blade o' grass BaUantjme James Baden Powell 

I'll dream of love to night ( Voccd Waltz) 

No. 1 in Et No. 2 in C J. S. Lyons W. F. Taylor 

In the Garden Alfred Tennj-son, D.C.L T. S. Wotton 

In the Imsh of the gloaming (ivith Pianoforte 

and, Harmonium ad Zi6.)... Arthur Chapman E, R. Newton 4 

In the dawning {Tenor or 

Soprano) C. E. Kettle C. E. Kettle 4 

In an old arm chair F. D. Herrick . . Williams Williams 4 

In the Olden Time . . . .Samuel K. Cowan, M.A Joseph Ridgway 4 

In the ranks of glory. No 1 in C, 

No, 2 in BI2 Vincent Barwell Harry Dancey 4 

In vain S. E. Eveleigh S. E. Eveleigii 4 

Incognita Charles Rowe Zuccardi 4 C 

Inkerman (The Soldiers' Battle) Jno. A. Elhott . . John Arthur Elliott 4 

It is but a memory T. A. 0. . .Lily H. E. Marchant 4 

It is but for life Charles Millward . . George Staker, net 2 

It serves you right ! Edward Oxenford A, L. Mora 4 

It was a lover and his lass Shakespeare Ada MacEwen 4 

It was the song my mother sang . .Henry Fase Henry Ease 4 

Jack's Consolation {Humorous Sea Song) Morton Elliott 4 

Jack's Return Henry G. Kemp. . . . Henry G. Kemp 3 

Joy Stars Claxson Bellamy Stephen Kemp 4 

Kalekaiii H. F. Wilson . . Claude Barton, net 2 

King Goldcmar Sir Noel Baton . . . . C. Wells Ingram 4 

Last night {sunrj hy Mdme Cliristine 

JS'ilsson W. Nelson Gilmore. . Hon. Lady Murray 4 





















NEW AND SUCCESSFUL fiO^G^— continued. 5 

Naine of Piece. Words by Composer. s. d. 

Ladj^ Gray ]lobert MacHardj- . . Robert MacHardj' 4 

Laugliiug Eyes Ernst Wertheim .... Ernst Wertheim 4 

Let Erin remember the days of old T. Moore 2 

Let me hold the helm. . . .H. L. D'Arcy Jaxone. . . . Ernest Bcrgholt 4 <> 

l,\i(i,\\\Y {sungby Mdme.Valeria) Ada S. Eallin . . . . Dr. Wm. Spark 4 

Life, in G „ „ „ „ „ „ „ 4 

Logic Charles J. Howe. . . .^Nfarcella C. Clark 4 

Long, long thoughts Longfellow J. E. Gatliff 4 

L'Organetto {Italian Words) G. dii Zuccardi 3 

Lost {The Little Tress of Gold) Fred. A. Facker Fred. A. Facker 4 

Love loves for ever. .J. D. E. Loveland. .John D. Errington Loveland 4 

Love's Golden Dreams Lindsay Lennox . . . .Lindsay Lennox 4 

Love's Serenade (»'?7/t'6V?^off(To?Jip.) Sir Walter Scott .. Arthur Smith 4 

Love shall never die J. A. Chantler 4 

Love undying F. D. Herrick . . Williams AVilliams 4 

Love's Paradise J. W. Wearne J. A. Chantler 4 

Love's Fhilosophy Edith F. Prideaux 4 

Love's Pleading Edward Oxenford. . . . Arthur C. Haden 4 

Lovers' Fancies Hev. T. H, Martyn. . Langdon Colborne 4 

Love's Shadow Charles J. Rowe Alois Yolkmer 4 

Loving Memories L. D Alice Hearn 4 

Loving Still Edward Oxenford . . Joseph Spawforth 4 (.) 

Loyal and True, In C & D . . Robert Richardson, Esq. . . Frank Swift 4 
liullaby, No. 1 in RT, No. 2 in Gj? {sunr/ bi/ Miss Mary Davies) 

G. Wither .... Vincent Morgan 4 

Margery Mine Ogilvie Mitchell Arthur W. Creighton 4 

Margery , . . . R. R. C. Gregory . . Wentworth Bennett, net 2 

Meeting of the Waters T. Moore 2 

Mem'ry's Dream (witJi Chorus for 

four voices) Charles MiUward . . George Stakcr, net 2 

Mine alone {Song) H. E. Warner 4 

Mine and Thhie .... Mrs. Phillip Inglis Page . . Henry F. Schroder 4 

Mistaken {A Summer Idyll) = J. E. German 4 

Misunderstood Fred. S. White "W. Langman 4 

Mother, Oh sing me to rest .... Mrs. Hemans W. H. Harper 3 

My Dermot Miss A. L. Hildebrand . . G. Dixon, Mus. Doc. 4 

My Father's Voice Mrs. Foot Frank Bradley 4 

My gentle swallow C. E. B. . . Erskine Allon, 7iet 2 

My Prince's Love Lady Felice, net 2 

My Ladye Barbara W. E. Goodwins. ... W. E. Goodwins 4 

My lady sleeps Longfellow George J. L.Drysdale 4 

My only love Harrison Weir . . James Henry Lewis 4 

My Sailor Lad G. Hubi Newcombe. .G. Hubi Newcombe 4 

Navy Blue A. M. Lowe Alfred Comhen 3 

Norah's Treasure James Baden Powell 4 

Not at all ilarmion Ivan Range 4 

Not in vain Anon .... Isabel Gibberne 4 

Ocomeintothestudio,mydarling Frank Liityens Frank Lutyens 4 

O, copy me, pray copy me. WordsandmusicbytwoPrimroseLeaguers »e< 2 

6 NEW AND SUCCESSFUL m'NG^— continued. 

Name of Piece. Words by Composer. s. d. 
! give me back my heart. The words from 

the Fainih/ Herald E. Scarsbrook 4 

smile again on me, JNo. 1 in D, 

No. 2 in E [r William Trend W. H. Richmond 4 

Oh ! my fair love Mrs. Whitcombe .... J. ClifFe Forrester 3 

Oh what is the colour {Humorous) . . J. S. Lyons W. F. Taylor 3 

Oh, Where's the slave so lowly T. Moore 2 

On the lliver Eleonore .... Edward Rubini 4 

One Day of Hoses, in D F|: & G. {simg hy 

Mdme.AdelinaPatti) Philip Bourke Marston Mary W. Ford 4 

One with Thee Alphseus Morrison .... F. K. Hattersley 4 

Only Anon B. J. Hancock 4 

Only a Word George Walmesley .... A. 0. Mansfield 4 

Our Mate G. W. Southey Theo Bonheur 4 

Our only Hope, No. 1 in AJ, No. 2 in F Oliver Brand . . P. von Tugginer 4 

Our own Fireside Miss M. llitchie .... Leonard Bradley 4 

Our Sailors and our Ships Eliza Cook A. H. Fowler 4 

Our Volunteers Catherine Rowland . . Catherine Rowland 4 

Over the sea {Canzonet) H. Knight. . Jas. Baden Powell 4 

Over the Stile Frederic Wood .... A. G. Pritchard 4 

Parted Fred. A. Packer .... Fred. A. Packer 4 

Parted Lives {sung by Miss Jose 

Sherrington) Edward Oxenford .... Joseph Spawforth 4 

Parted though we be, dear 

Maiden Frederick B. Needham .... Leonard Barnes 4 

Parting (" The Kiss, dear Maid ") Ernest Crooke 4 

Parting (" Loved one, thinlc of me ") James A. Taylor 4 

Par un mauvais temps Alfred D. ^lusset .... Hannah Stallard 4 

Peacefully she slumbers Percy Lloyd Devonia 4 

Pledge me brim to brim . . . .Edward Fitzball Harry Dancey 4 

Pretty Blue bell Walter Egerton W. F. Tavlor 3 

Pretty Nothings F. W. Waithman J. W. Dawson 4 

Prithee, Maiden Sydnev Lever. . Amy Elise Horrocks 4 

Ready Frank W. Pratt. . . .S. Claude Ridley 4 

Remember the glories of Brien the Brave T. Moore 2 

Requiescat (" Strew on 

her Eoses") Matthew Arnold J. M. Smieton 4 

Reunion W. B. Trives W. B Trives 4 

Rich and rare were the gems she wore T. Moore 2 

Robin and Jenny Robert MacHardy R. MacHardy 4 

Ptescued F. M. White. . C. Richard Duggan 4 

Rest at Last Rev. J. C. D. Eraser Natalie 4 

Saucj' Jane {Sung by Mr. Thurley 

Beale) Walter Egerton W. F. Taylor 4 

Saving the Colours, No. 1 in B Ij, No. 2 in C Michael Watson 4 

Say thou art mine Lewis Conway Lewis Conway 4 (> 

Se m'ami t'amero (If thou lov'st me). 

Romance A. Richard Ed. Rubini 4 

Serenade {Breaming) James Wilkie W. Mitchell 4 

NEW AND SUCCESSFUL m-NGH— continued. 7 

Name of Piece. Words by Composer. 8. d. 
Serenade, No. 1 in A i2, No. 2 in F {with 

Violin ohhligaio) B. V. Thomson Erskinc Allon 4 

Seven times three Jean Ingelow. . . Kate Mackintosh 4 

Seven times fonr Jean Ingelow. . . . Kate Mackintosli 4 

Shadow and Light Charles 11. Fisher. . . .Charles 11. Fisher 4 

Silver Stars Mary Cillington. . . .Cecilia Launcclot 4 

Six Songs Words, 17th Century . .Erskine Allon, net 2 6 

Six Songs AVyatt. . Erskine Allon, net 2 H 

Six Songs Herrick W. Frere, net 2 6 

Six Songs II. W. Longfellow W, H. Bentley 

No. 1. Twilight 4 

„ 2. Whither 4 

„ 3. The slave singing at midnight 4 

,, 4. It is not always May 4 «) 

„ 5. Christmas Bells 4 

,, G. Curfew 4 O 

Six Songs, Op. 9 Caroline lladford . .Erskine Allon, net 2 6 

1. Evening 

2. A Spring Song 

3. Two Songs 

4. Aubade 

5. Sweetheart 

6. Westleigh Bells 

Six Songs Thomas Moore. .Joseph S. Ward, net 3 

Sixty years ago May Traill May Traill 4 

Sleep, my darling ( Cradle song), with Violoncello ohhligato Harry Dancey 4 

Soldiers' Loyalty Julius Borges 4 

Soldiers' Wives Claxson Bellamy J. E. Webster 4 U 

Some other time H. D'Arcy Jaxone. . Emma M. St. John 4 

Somebody's waiting C. Marston Haddock. .Geo. Percy Haddock 4 •) 

Song of the Maid of Astolat . .Desmond llyan Dr. C. S. Heap 4 

Sound the loud trumpets. . . .llev. W. L. Smith J. H. Caseley 4 

Stay at home Longfellow James Price 4 

Sunshine F. E. Weatherly, M.A Berthold Tours 4 

Sweet bird, answer me John Carr. .0. M.Morse Bo> cott 4 

Sweet Brown Eyes E. Kerr Natalie 3 

Sweethearts' Farewell William Cowan . . James Duff George 4 

Sweethearts, Long ago {Dlustrafcd) Walter Shepherd . . W. C. Levey 4 

Sweet Sounds F. E. Weatherly, M.A H. Stidolph 4 

Sweet and low Tennyson. . . . C. Wells Ingram 4 

Sweet is true love Tennvson Ernest Crooke 4 

Take care. No. 1 in F, No. 2 in D .' G. B. Allen 4 

Take Care Boys C. T. Longley C. T. Longley 4 

Tally Ho ! {Himting song) Arthur H. Brown 4 

Tatters (« Vagrant's dittij) E. Oxenford E Verano 4 

Tell me why Edward Oxenford Sidney Dean 4 

The Angel's Call Charles Millwaid . . Geoige Staker, net 2 

The Angel's Hand M. H. Wigmore .... M. H. Wigmore 4 

The Answer Sydney H. Thompson Orsino Salari 4 

The Armourer's Gift, No. 1 in B[?, No. 2 in C, 

No. 3 in D Odoardo Barri 4 

Tiie Bachelor {Humorous) J. T. Parkins J. T. Parkins 4 














8 NEW AND SUCCESSFUL 801^ GS—cov tinned. 

Name of Piece. Words by Composer. 

The EacheJor gay 8. J. Adair Fitzgerald W. C. Levey 

The Better Land J. T. Burton WoUaston J. G. Hancock 

The Bird and the Hose . . . .Robert S. Hichens. . Amy Elise Horrocka 
The Boldliearted Manxman {Illustrated) . . Erank Amos . . G, D. Eox 
The broken strings of a mandoline 

Edith Frances Prideaux . . Edith F. Prideaux 

The Buccaneer's Song H. A. Acworth T. S. Hamilton 

The Cavalier Constance Lacy Stephen Kemp 

The Cavalier's Whisper Dr. Bennett Frank Austin 

The Child asleep Longfellow S. 11. Philpot 

The Crew of the Betsy Jane . .Frank W. Pratt. , . . S. Claude Ridley 

The Cyclist's Song Keith Mertyn. . Harold E. Stidolph 

The Departure for Egypt 

{descriptive song) Lavis Bryan Lewis Conway 4 

The^' Dirge {The words {hi/ 'permission) from '■'■Cornish 

Ballads ") .... Rev. Robert Stephen Hawker . . Rev. F. Hawker 

Kingdon 4 

The Double Knock. . Thomas Hood. ... W. A. Jefferson 3 

The Dream of Home Thomas Moore J. L. Gregory 4 

The dying Veteran G. W. Southey . . . .Franz Leideritz 4 

The empty Nest F. E. Weatherly, M.A. . . Arthur H. Watson 4 

The faded Rose, No. 1 in D, No. 2 in B t> 

Lindsay Lennox Alois Yolkmer 4 

The Farewell Lord Byron Thos. Morton 4 

The Ferryman's Fare Edward Oxenford. . . . Edward Rubini 4 

The Fisher Girl's Song. J. T. Burton Wollaston J. E. West 4 

The Fishermaid's Love Song, No. 1 in G, 

No. 2 in E Godfrey Stanbridge .... Kate Lloyd Jones 4 

The Flight of Song H. Heine J. Cliffe Forrester 3 

The Flower of the Heart Dr. Wm. Spark 4 

The Footballers' Song W. H. Draycott 4 

The Friend of Humanity and the Knife Grinder {ivritten 

by tJie late R. H. George Canning) . . Maj.-Gen. Fullerton Carnegie 4 

The Gallant Rescue Braham 4 

The Gaoler Claxson Bellamy. . Charles E. Tinney 4 

The Gleam across the Bay G. Du Zuccardi 4 

The Golden Gate . . . .Gertrude Frances Stuart Lady Borton 4 

The harp that once T. Moore 2 

The Heavenly Message, No. 1 in F, 

No. 2 in A fe A. D'Orsay George Bates 4 

The Huguenot Lindsay Lennox Alois Volkmer 4 

The Lichcape Rock Soiithey J. Greenhill 4 

The Italian Maiden's Song .... Annie Shelton Annie Shelton 4 

The Keepsake Mrs. A. F. Tindall. . Mrs. A. F. Tindall 3 

The last Footfall E. Jefferson 4 

The last Message Edward Oxenford .... Henry R. Mark 4 

The Last Rose of Summer T. Moore 2 

The Lawyer's Confession Pullah Blackie Pullah Blackie 4 

The liberal Bachelor Robert MacHardy . . Robert MacHardy 4 









Name of Piece. Words hy Composer. a. d. 

The light of the morn is breaking . . G. 11. lilackbeo . . J. Harry Field 

The Lily and the Rose Cowpcr Ed. Jlubini 

The Lost Ship Thomas Hood .... W. A. Jefferson 

The Message of the Organ Fenton Gray Alice ilearn 

The Minstrel lioy T. Moore 

The Miser Claxson Bellamy J. E. Webster 

The Nightingale's Haunt H. Mar. . . .S. Emily Oldham 

The Old House far away (snng h)/ Mdme. Antoinette 

Sterlinri) Ellen Forrester . . Sir G. A. Macfarren 4 

The Old Musician {^ivlth Violoncello and 

Piano Accompaniment) . . Ernest A. Williams G. Sutherland 4 

The old Arbour Edward Oxenford .... D. B. Thomason 4 

The old Smuggler J. E. Webster J. E. Webster 4 

The Open Window Longfellow. .G. Dixon, Mus. Doc. 4 

The Orangemen's National Song Gabriel Gabriel 4 

The Piper's Song W. Blake J. ClifFe Forrester 3 

The Privateer Henry Esmond . . Jno. F. McAlinden 4 

The Queen's Jubilee Song John Bull 4 

The lieaper and the Flowers Longfellow W. H. Speer 4 

The Rivals Edward Oxenford J, E. Webster 4 

The Saucy May Francis Amos Morton Elliott 4 

The Sea Shell Bernard Barton .... Charles 11. Fisher 4 

The School Board Prodigy (Humorous 

Song) Henry E. Dudeney. . . . Ernest Bergholt 4 (; 

The Shepherd Lady Jean Ingelow .... Kate Mackintosh 4 

The shrine T. H. Passmore .... Bernard Johnson 4 

The sleeping shepherdess of 

Glenfiddich La Teste J. M. Noa 4 

The Soldier's Mother (for mezzo sop. or contralto, with 

Clarionet ohhUijato) . . . .James Baden Powell. .James Baden Powell 

The Song of the Cyclist Rae Banks .... Harriet Kendall 

The Song of the Mermaiden E. Cuthbert Nunn 

The Song of the Sunbeam J. S. Lj'ons W. F. Taylor 

The Song of the Wayfarer .... Lindsay Lennox Morton Elliott 

The Star of Hope Hyde Parker A. Bull 

The Strolling Player Edward Oxenford . . . .Antonio L. Mora 

The Sunshine of the Heart C. R, Rowe Anne Fricker 

The valley lay smiling before me T. Moore 

The Tar's Toast Lewis Conway 

The Three little Words (/ love you) 

(Illustrated) Walter Shepherd. . . . Walter Shepherd 

The time of roses Thomas Hood .... Cecilia Launcelot 

The Troubadour Sir Walter Scott J. Cliffe Forrester 

The Two Angels Frank Austin 

The Vanquished Knight, No. 1 in A, No. 

2 in G (simplified accompt.) . .E. Oxenford. . Charles J. Hargitt 4 
The Voice of Music (Mezzo-soprano) 

Mrs. Hemans C. E. Kettle 4 
















Name of Piece. Words hy Composer. s. d. 

The Warrior's Farewell Vivian Graham. . . . Ered. Scarsbrook 3 

The Well of Oblivion. The Right "Re v. Reginald 

Hebcr, I).l)., sometime Bishop of Calcutta John Hey wood 4 

The white frosfs on the hill E.M. Woolley 4 

The AVind i-s Awake, No. 1 in E flat, 

No. 2 in C J. V. Cheney G. F. Cobb 4 

The Winsome Lass Mrs. J. R. M. . . Arthur C. Haden 4 

The Winter King, No. 1 in R!?, No. 2 in C Wm. Hollings worth 4 

There be none of Beauty's Daughters Alan Gray 4 

"Thither." No. 1 Jeannic Jeannie 4 

jj ,, 2 Jeannie Jeannie 4 

Thou art like a flower ( Words after Heine) Beatrice Logan 4 

Though the last glimpse of Erin T. Moore 2 6 

Thoughts of the Absent Noretta Noretta 4 

Three Ages H. C. HiUer H. C. Hiller 4 

Three Horsemen William Black Marie Farror 4 

Three Italian Songs Jacopo Yittorelli .... Walter Frere, net 2 

Three Jolly Tars Edward Oxenford Harry Dancey 4 

Three score and ten {sang by Mdme. 

Edith Wynne) Mary Mark-Lemon S. C. Cooke 4 

Three Shadows Dante Gabriel Rossetti . . Constance E. Maud 4 

Thy true heart J. A. Chantler 4 

Till Eternity Vivian Graham .... Fred. Scarsbrook 3 

Till then A. M. V. H Julia Hamilton 4 

Tiny Feet Morton Elliott 4 q 

'Tis now or 'tis never J. Chermside 4 

To Laura T. H. Passmore. . Claude Barton, net 1 6 

To Music, to becalm his 

fever. .Rev. Robt. Herrick, M.A. (1591-1674)Chas.W.Pearce,Mus.D, 4 

To Myra Thomson . . Edward J. Sturges 4 

Together E. H. Siigg 4 

Told in Confidence F. Julian Croger . . . . F. Julian Croger 4 

True for ever Guy Merton Guy Merton 4 

True Heart, No. 1 in F, No. 2 in E fe 

Rose Piddington G. Tartaglione 4 

'Twas in the dear time long ago . . . . R. Reece G. B. Allen 4 

'Twas there we met Frank W. Pratt .... S. Claude Ridley 4 

Twelve Songs {To old English ivords) Erskine Allon, net 2 6 

Twilight Edward Oxenford .... Leonard Barnes 4 

Two Daisies Sarah Marshall . . . . S. Emily Oldham 4 

Two Reveries { ^°i: |Sie*e?e } ^ongs with 

Violin obbligato Arthur C. Haden 4 

Two Sides to a Hedge, No. 1 in B 5, 

No. 2 in C Frederick Wood Henry Pontet 

Under the Bonnet Robert MacHardy . .Robert MacHardy 

Under the Stars {ivith Violin and ViolonceJlo obbligato) 

Claxson Bellamy . . Hastings "Crossley 

Unseen Singers G. W. Varley Geo. E. Hes 

Until we meet {sung by Miss Violet 

Cameron) G. Clifton Bingham .... Joseph Spawforth 4 






Name of Piece. WonU hi/. CompOf<r. 

Vei'gebens (Unheeded) {with Violin or 

Violoncello Accompaniment) Heine Phoebe Otway 

Victoria S. Clifton Bingham Alice Hearn 

Victoria. Jubilee Song W. Ucrrj' W. Berry 

Victoria the Loved M. A. C Sinclaii- Dunn 

Versailles Gerard E. Cobb 

"Wait but a while Henry G. Kemp 

Was it well ? Edward Oxenford M. A. Baker 

Waiting at Heaven's Gate Hon. Mrs. Forbes 

Waiting for you, Jock . . . .Judge Halliburton Julian 

We sweetly, gently glide along {Boat Soatj) Vivian 

What matters it how we die ? ... . I. M. Smith U. li. Jones 

When I am dead, my dearest Ered. A. Packer 

When I recall Burns . . E. Glode Ellis, net 

When thou art happy, think of me 

Charles Millward . . George Staker, net 

"WTien the moon shines brightly . . Haynea Bayley J. Price 

When we two parted Bj'ron M. Skirrow 

Where Hearts are throbbing H. M H. Maconochie 

Which shall it be Brightonian Edith Gordon Bartlett 

Whither {Words from the German hy 

W. H. Lowjfellow) James Baden Powell 

Who'll buy my Snowdrops (Illustrated) John Eox John Fox 

Why beats with rapt'rous thrill (Maul of Astolat) 

(simg hii Mr. Edivard Lloyd?), No. 1 C, No. 2 B fe . .Dr. C. S. Heap 

Wild Flowers W. Ball Max Schroter 

Win to wear (hy 'permission from the 

WesUyan Temperance Hymns and Sonys) William Haigh 

Windmill Land Claxson Bellamy . . James Henry Lewis 

Worn out and weary, alone and dreary 

(Illustrated) Frank Green. . . . John Fitzgerald 

Written on Sand CD. Woolf 

Yea or Nay Christina Rosetti . . Etienne Ravvizzotti 

Ye Mariners of England Thomas Campbell C. S. Hill 

Yesterday Ellen Miller . . Theodor L. Clemens 

Three Baritone Songs — 

1. An English Christmas Home . . . .Eliza Cook. Orbel Hinchliff, 

2. Our Oldest Friend Oliver W. Holmes „ „ )> net 2 

8. The best of all good companj'. Barry Cornwall „ „ 


































After the Fray (Tenor and 

Bass) Geo. Wm. Southey Theodore Bonheur 

Half my wealth, Trio (Maid of Astolat) Desmond Byan Dr. C. S. Heap 
I would if I could, but 1 can't (Topical Sony and 

Duet) J. F. Mitchell, . . G. Newman and F. Latimer 

It was a lover and his lass .... Shakespeare F. M. Rundall 






Name of Piece. Words hi/ Composer. s. d. 

The Battle Eve {Tenor and Bass) Thco Bonheur 4 

The Sunshine and the shade {for Mezzo- 
soprano and Contralto) Mary M. Jazdowska. ... E. M. Lawrence 4 

Whencecoraet.hose merry voices. .Priscilla King J. E. Spinney 4 

Who is Sylvia ? {For Contralto 

and Baritone) Shakespeare. . Erskine AHon, net 2 


iFOi^ THE GOiMiiisra- sE.A.soisr. 


Ada G. W. Baker 4 

Amaryllis {Beautifulhj illustrated in colmirs) Charles Speyer 4 

Australia Waltz Mabel M. liobertson 4 

Autumn Elowers A, G. Pritchard 4 

Autumn Memories Stretton Swan 4 

Bliuie Taube {Beautifulh/ Illustrated) F. Marsden Cobb 4 

Christmas Rose {Illustrated) Edith Gage 4 

(Jirce H. Stallard 4 

Cinderella {Illustrated) W. A. Propert 4 

Clara A. Ered. Tindall 4 

Clarine Karl Kaps 4 

Clyda Mabel M. Robertson 4 

Come Back Geo. Percy Haddock 4 

Day Dreams A. McKenzie 4 

Day Dreams Grace Pugh 4 

Der Lurleyburg {Illustrated) ... Carl Schenck 4 

Dewdrop and Daisies W. C. Hogg 4 

Dolly, Vocal ^Yaltz {Beautifully Illustrated) T. G. Hancock 4 

Dreaming of Love {Beautifully Illustrated) W. E. Taylor 4 

Eclipse Clara Miller 4 

Elaine {Illustrated) Erskine Allon 4 

Enchantment Wakeham 4 

Eros Eustace O'Connor 4 

Esme {Illustrated) Erskine Allon 4 

Etoiles Filantea Jose J. de Veintemilla 4 

Eunice John Brook 4 

Evelyn {Grand Valse for the Pianoforte) E. Tufnel 4 

Fairie Dreams ( Vocal) Alice Clevedon 4 

Fleur de Lis George Bates 4 

Fiorina J. Smith Green, net 2 

Gentinella {Illustrated) Louise Morrison 4 

DANCE UJJUIG— continued. 13 

Name of Piece. Composer. 

Gliick Auf F. Mtirsden Coljb 

Go Liglitly Anna Kinnison 

Haidce {Illustrated) J. Spawfortli 

Harvest Home [Beautifidly Illustrated) J. i*. Wand 

Harvest Moon ' Marie L. Furiiiss 

Iris {Beautifully Illustrated) Erskine Allon 

Josephine J. Chermside 

Joyons Spring Time ( Vocal) Chas. 11. Fisher 

Joy Waltz {Illustrated) Erskine Allon 

Jubilee Clarissa Bell 

Karlus llobert MacHardy 

Kathleen Waltz {Illustrated) Emma M. St. John 

Laburnum Violetta 

L'Amour Fidele E. Colborn Mayne 

La Chaperone G. J. Rubini 

Le Chateau de Grignon Thos. Scarsbrook 

La lleverie W. E. Goodwins 

Louise {BeautifulJij Illustrated) J. P. Clarke 

Love Dream (illustrated) E. Woebbe 

Love's Young Dream {Illustrated) Marie Brooke 

Les Bohemiens de Paris {Grand Valse) Ed. Heinrich 

Lilian {Beautifidl >/ Illustrated) Lallic Pitt 

Les Primeveres {Beauiifulhj Illustrated in Colours) . .Charles Deacon 

Ma toute belle {Illustrated) Emily Walsh 

Marion J. W. Slatter 

Marjorie Kate Mackintosh 

May Mabel Shelford 

May : Clifford Harry 

Midnight {Beautifully Illustrated) Charles J. Jung 

Mildred Scrivener 

Mine Alone {Beautifully Ilhistrated) Theo Bonheur 

My Waltz Arthur Smith 

Navita Henry Matignon 

Navy Blue {on the song Navy Blue) Alfred Comben 

Nydia {Beautifully Illustrated) Alice Rowley 

Olive Branch {Beautifully Illustrated in Colours) .... George Staker 

Olivia {Beautifully Illustrated) Hugh Clifford 

Orange Blossoms {Beautifully Illustrated in Colours) Leonard Eemfry 

Orpheus H. Stallard 

Orynthia E. Griffith 

Rayons d' Argent E. Wilhelmovna 

Rhodanthe Erskine Allon, net 

Rippling Waves Marie Brooke 

Rosalia G. W.' Baker 

Rousillon C. T. Branscombe 

Rowena A. H. Fowler 

Riickblick {Retrospect) {Beautifully Illustrated) . . C. E. G. Waldmann 

Saprina Ella E. Green 

Shadowland Hugh Clendon 




















































]4 DANCE ^TJSIC— continued. 

Name of Piece. Composer. 

Silver "Wedding John Butterworth 

Small and Early. Oj). 10 Charlie W. Graham 

Soft Nothings Leonard Remfry 

Soudan Amelia Berkowitz 

Source d'Or E. Y. Max Tanner 

Spring of Love (Illustrated) Joseph Spawforth 

Stabilitc L. Loizette 

Sun Shower (Beautifully Illustrated in Colours) George Staker 

Sunny Hays ^Y. C. Valentine 

Sweet Dreams, or The Bells of St. Clement's ( Vocal) .... J. B. Leahy 

Sweet Thoughts G. C. Eichardson 

Tara (Hindustani for Stars) E. M. Davie 

Thalia John J), llichardson 

The xistoria Charles A. Tasker 

The Battenberg J. T. Musgrave 

The Bryn J. Watts 

The Garden of Girls Jacques Pierre 

The Golden Eeign J. H. Lewis 

The Improvisatrice Mrs. H. D. Sheppard 

The Kensington Parliament G. L. Stutlield 

The Londesborough Waltz E. A. Sydenham 

The New Olj'mpia Alice Hearn 

The Primrose A. G. Tarbet 

The Songs of the Season Waltz Jacques Pierre 

The Stortford Oxonian 

The Prince of Wales (Dedicated, hj special loermis- 

sion, to U.R.H. the Prince of Wales, with Portrait 

in mezzo-tint) Hon. Lady Murray 

The Etruscan •. Amigare 

The Duchess C. R. Duggan 

The Lily Florence E. Slatter 

The Matlock Pavilion Carl Schenck 

The United Lodges T. B. Rich ardson 

The Zelia Florence G. Gibbs 

Tout-a-vous Henry Williamson 

Twilight Eleanor Bicknell 

Under the Southern Cross Retford 

Vanessa Erskine Allon 

Violetta W. J. Bailey 

Vorblich (Anticipation) (Illustrated) C. E. G. Waldmann 

Wayside Dreams Ethel Langham 

Water Lily (Beautifully Illustrated in Colours) . . . .Charles Deacon 

Wenallt Llewellyn Carver 

Wentworth ]\Iabel Robertson 

White Heather Ryder 

White Heather C. H. Martini 

Wild Flowers M. Weld 



















































DANCE UVtilG—contunud. lo 


Name of Piece. Com/>oser. 

Black Diamond C. H. 11. Marriott 

Conversazione ( Vocal) Ellis Kiley, net 

Cinderella Graham 

Cricketer's Polka W. H. Stephenson 

Fascination J. Welsh Leith 

Fclicitd Folcardet 

Femlle d'Amoiir (Beautifully Illustrated) Ernest Travers 

Forget-me-not Theodore Decker 

Four-in-hand Albert Rosenberg 

Four o'clock (Ilhistnited) Victor d'Amalie 

Frivolito W. S. Seddon 

Hoppy'a George W. Baker 

Jolly Cadet J. S. Lee 

Le contre-temps Haydn Mellor 

Lunatic (Beaiitifulli/ Illustrated) E. M. Elvey 

Mona's Isle William Smallwood 

Moonlight (Illustrated) Leonard Remfry 

Nick Nack Alois Volkmer 

NoeUi C. E. G. Waldmann 

Off we go (Beautifully Illustrated) Charles Deacon 

Old London (Beautifully Illustrated) . . . . , J. Solomon 

Pattie John T. M. Harrison 

Polka des Folies Ehoda Broughton 

Post Horn Ferdinand Kessler 

Rival Blues (Beautifully Illustrated) B. Wilcockson 

The At Home J. Wright 

The Breeze of the Ocean Alfred S. Dobbins 

The Eastbourne Polka Maude 

The Shamrock Polka R. F. Harvey 

The Snatcher Polka A. C. Pickering 

The Squirrel Polka Charles Deacon 

Two for Joy (Brillante for tJie Pianoforte) . . Henry C. Rickets, B.A. 
U and I Marie Dupree 






































Avant Souper Folcardet 

Skating Albert Rosenberg 

Albany . .F, W. Brook 

First Violet . Felix Burns 





16 DANCE M-Vi^lC— continued 


Name of Piece. Composer. 

Blanche Giacomo Ferraris 

T, , T 11 (No. 1. Rose Marie) t i, rp ^r tt 

Bouquet des Hoses.j^^,^^ g. Marie Rosef "^"^^ ^- ^^' ^"''^'"^ 

Edelweiss Theodore Becker 

Euphemia C. H. ]\Iorine 

Faucy Fayre Edith Barrioger 

Le Bonheur Henry Youds 

Mazurka H. Pershouse 

Midnight Echoes T. J. Jackson 

Nationale H. Pershouse 

Polonaise, " Prince Joseph " J. Tomlinson 

Princess Josephine J. Tomlinson 

The Snnny South David Wilson 

Ye Fancye Fayre Braham 


Di Bravura W. H. WaU 

Jubilee Brillant Katie Samuel 

Qui va la {de concert) H. G. Kemp 

Rigoletto Theodore Decker 

The Avon Field J. C. Stuart 

The Crush W. J. G. Gibbs 

Vive le soldat Gustave Lange 

Wild Flowers John T. M. Harrison 


Blondel W. F. Taylor 

Chloe and Corinna James L. Gregory 

Coral Pearl W. T. Gliddon 

Daphne E. J. Sturges 

Etta ( Oavotte de Cour) Percival Holt 

Feodora Percy Pitt 

Freshfield Edward Harper 

Gavotte in F. Op. 12 F. Norman Adams 

Gavotte Yiolet A. S. Wild 

Gavotte and Musette S. Bath 

Gavotte in G. Op, 61 Louis Nicole 

Gavotte pour Piano Ferdinand Praeger 





































Name of Piece. Wordu by Composer. s, d. 

Gavotte in G T. W. Blakey 3 

Gavotte in G Selina ^fackness 4 

Gavotte Modernc Haydn Mellor 3 

Gavotte ( Violin and .Fianofo7'te) Chas. Hoby 3 

Gavotte (for Violoncello Tliilip des Soyres 3 

Heimliche Liebe J. liesch 3 

Introduction and Gavotte by Dr. Arno, arranged for Conceit Per- 
formances by E. II. Thorne 4 

Introduction and Gavotte {ivith Violin ad. lih.) . . . .H. T. Henniker 4 

La Capricciosa Gavotte Ed. Rubini 4 

Marie Gavotte Fred W. Goiild 4 

Minuet and Gavotte in G. Op. 2'> Haydn Miller 3 

Pixie Gavotte A. S. Wild 4 

llusticite Gavotte Ralph Morrison 4 

Stephanie Gavotte Czibulka 3 

Sissie Gavotte J. T. Musgrave 4 

Semplice Charles II. Fisher 4 

Windsor Castle A. Volkmar 4 


A Morning Call .... Eeatrice Abercrombie .... William Blakeley net 
Back to the Flood (Maid of Astolat), Fern, Voices, S.S.A....C. S. Heap 
Birdie singing on the 

tree Beatrice Abercrombie G. B. Allen 

Dolly and Dick (for )ScJiogIs) Ethel Coxhead . . E. M. Lawrence net 
Fairy Revels. Vocal Waltz (Two-part sonr/ for female voices) 

J. Charles B. Tirbutt 
Gather ye Rosebuds .... Robert Herrick .... William Blakeley net 

Go, Lovely Rose. .Edmund Waller, 1G03-1690 J. Clippingdale 

Good-night (men's voices, alto, two 

tenors, and bass) . .Percy Bysshe Shelley Fred C. Atkinson 

Good-night, beloved Longfellow Langton Ellis mt 

Good Night (for male voices) . . . .Shelley F'erris Tozer 

Hymn of the seasons 

(Cantatina) . . . .David R. Williamson Robert MacHardy 

Hymn to the Night Longfellow . . . . J. C. B. Tirbutt net 

I love my love in the morning R. Harvey ,, 

Jubilee Memorial (Choral for four Voices) 

Words from the German F, S. Dugmore 6 
















18 PAET SONGS, GLEES, &c.— continued. 

Name of Piece. Words hy Composer. s. d. 

Let us hasten o'er the 

meadows H. Vhicent Barwell ..Harry Dancey 3 

Light sounds the harp Thos. Moore J, G. Veaco 4 

Little 13o-Peep (Humorous) Harry Dancey 3 

j\Jy Country (Patriotic) Tom Moore George Staker 3 

Nursery Nonsense (Humorous) "Walter Parke .... Charles H. Fisher 3 
Two-part Songs, for Ladies' or Boys' Voices, by Sinclair Dunn. 

Complete 2 

Or singly thus :— 2 

No. 7. Lovely Sprini 
5, 8. Baby dear 
„ 9. Marching along 
,, 10. Evening's starlight 
„ 11. Best in'Thee 
,.12. Where the Roses bloom 

No. 1. Come to the woodlands 
„ 2. come let us sing 
„ 3. Where blue bells grow 
„ 4. The Lily of the VaUey 
„ 5. The Snowdrop 
„ 6. Merry Maidens 

Snowdrops E. J. Tupper Theodore L. Clemens net 3 

The Evening Song . . . .H. W. Longfellow Eobert &'ealy Genge 2 

The Jackdaw Cowper Robert MacHardy 3 

The Maiden's Bower Einra Holmes . . James Henry Lewis, net 3 

The Maiden's Song Dr. T. C. S. Corry Thomas Pictou „ U 3 

The Queen (A National Jubilee 

Hymn) Robert Whelan Boyle Sinclair Dunn 2 

The Fisherwife's Cradle Song . . E. W. S E. Bandey, net 3 

The Song of the Queen (In coinm<moration of Her Majestijs Illustrious 


No. 1. arr. for 1st and 2nd Treble, Music and Words, netl|d., doz. 1 4 

No. 2. arr. for Pour Voices, s.a.t.b. ,. net 2d., doz. 1 8 

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's 

Stream Tom Moore Leslie Mayne 4 

Victoria. Jubilee Glee (for 

Four Voices) Lady Borlon Lady Borton 3 

Wake from thy Dreams Elaine 

(Maid of Astolat), Fern. Voices . .S. S. A. A C. S. Heap 3 

Welcome all within these walls . .Mrs. Reeve. . . . George A. Ames 

( Vocal Trio ivith accom.p. Piano Sf Harmonium) Score & Parts, net 

When the roses are in bloom. .Lillie Davis D. M. Davis ,, 

When the sun sinks to rest, for Alto, 

Tiuo Tenors, and Bass S. C. Cooke ,, 

Holy Rest (ivith Violin Accompaniment) N. Kilburn ,, 

He that loves a rosy cheek Carew G. B. Allen „ 































Name of rkce. Compose): 

Ancient and Modern Chant (301) Wra. llidley, pa[)er 

Do. do. „ cloth 

The Psalter, &c., divided for ciianting- Wm. llidley 

Ave Maria. (Tenor >Solo) Egbert Koberts, net 

Ave Maria, with violin ohbl'ujnio Lady Felice 

Ave Maiia, with violoncello obblif/ato Walter Maekway 

Ave Voium for Alto or Bass, with flute or violin obblu/ato 

Robert MacHardy 

Eenedicite. Three simple settings W. H. Garland 

Benodicite, Omnia Opera John Heywood 

Benedicite, Omnia Opera, in Chant form )S. C. Cooke 

Benedicite, Omnia Opera Uev. Thomas W. Stephenson, B.A. 

Benedictus, &c., from Communion Service in C . .Gerard F. Cobb, net 

Born on the sober wings of night J, M. Noa 

Christmas comes but once a year. Canon for three voices 

Charles II. Ward, Mus. Bac. 

Communion Service in C Gerard F. Cobb, net 

Communion, The Office for Holy, in C. Op. 8 C. W. Pearce 

Communion Service, Kyrie Eleison, Sec W. H. Richmond, net 

Communion Service W, F. Taylor ,, 

Eight Original Harvest Hymns. Words by Rev. S. Childs Clark „ 
Words 1/- ^>t'r Hundred. 


No. 1 . Processional Harvest Hymu Ai'thur H. Brown 

„ 2. Faithful in thy Love Rev. J. B. Dykes 

,, 3. Put on thy strength, O Zion A.H.Brown 

„ 4. Gi'acious C'lod, another Harvest Langran 

,, 5. To thee, who art the Harvest's Lord A. H. Brown 

,, 6. From the Priceless Harvest Dean Alford 

,, 7. With thankful Heart, with tuneful Voice A. H. Brown 

,, 8. The Harvest-tide OMation From the Lausanne Psalter 

Eternal Father, strong to save CHymn) Joseph Spawforth, net 

Evening Service, Magnificat and j^unc Dimittis in B flat . . Alf. King 

Evening Service in D, Chant form Charles E. Millner 

Evening Service, Magnificat and ISTunc Dimittis in D . .Fred L. Higgs 

Evening Service. Op. 8 Charles W. Pearce 

Evening Service. Magnificat and ISTunc Dimittis in D . . J. H. Fray, net 
Evening Service in F, Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis . . Alan Gray ,, 
Evening Servicein E^, Magnificatand NuncDimittis Chas. E, Millner „ 
Evening Service, Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis in B2 Haydn Grover „ 
Evening Service, Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis in D M. Kingston „ 
Evening Service, Magnificat and Nmic Dimittis in G. S.C.Ridley „ 
Evening Service, Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis. . W. H. Lee Davis ,, 
Evening Service, Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis. Rev. B. Hall Wortham 
Four Tunes to Popular Hymns 

D. J. Mackey, Canon of Perth Cathedral 3 
Hark ! sweet angel voices singing. Christmas Hymn. Words by 

T. Fletcher W. T. Belcher, Mus. Doc. Oxon. „ 

Holy Communion Charles W. Pearce, Mus. Doc. 

Kyrie, Gloria, &c S. Bath „ 

















20 SACRED — continued. 

Name of Piece. ■ Composer. s. d. 

Litany of Seven Last Words S. Gerard Dorry, l.^d. 

Words per 100 1 6 
M;iss of St. John the Baptist (for voices only) for 

Lent and Advent llev. J. E. Turner, net 1 6 

Magnificat and Nimc Dimittis 

l)r. W. J. Westhrook, Mus. Doc, Cantab. 

Magnificat and Kunc Dimittis, Unison, in F Harry Dancey 

Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis in P]!? llev. Thomas W. Stephenson, ]}.A. 

Morning and Evening Services, in Chant form. Part 1 net 

Do. do. do." Part 2 „ 

Morning and Evening Services, together with the Office for Holy 

Communion. Op. 8 Charles W. Pearce, Mus. Doc. 

Music for Holy Communion Dr. W. J. Westhrook 

Nicene Creed Alan Gray 

Responses to the Commandments J. H. Eray, net 

llesponsfis to the Commandments, adapted chiefly for Cathedral Choirs ,, 

Six Hymn Tunes Alan Gray 

25 Copies, Ss. 

Sunday Album. No. 1 Hymns, &c W. F. Taylor, vet 

Surge lUuminare. Motett for S.A.T.B Gerard F. Cobb „ 

12 Cojiies, "Ss. 6d. ; 25 Copies, 6s. 

Te Deum, in Chant form. No. 1 in D S. C. Cooke „ 

No. 2 in E!z 

» No. 3 in D 

Te Deum (Chant) Dr. W. J. AVestbrook, Mus. Doc, Caniab. 

Te Deum in D, for the use of Parish Choirs .... W. H. Draycott „ 

Te Deum, Jubilate and Kj^rie, Chant fonn Frank Austin ,, 

Te Deum Laudamus J. H. Jarvis 

Te Deum, in D Harry Dancey 

Te Deum, together with Psalm C. (Jubilate Deo) (Morning Service) 

Ch. W. Pearce 

The Communion Service, D major Arthur Blissett 

The Nicene Creed, etc.; in D W. Howard Stables 

The Story of the Cross, (Rev. E. Monro) J. R. Courtenay Gale 

Twelve Hymn Tunes Rev. A . W. Malim 


And it came to pass, as the angels were gone. Anthem 

for Christmas Arthur Simms, vtt 

Arise— Shine ! G. F. Cobb 

„ Tonic „ 

Balaam's Prophecy, " I shall see Him." Suitable for Christmas. 

Vocal Score, Folio Dr. William Spark, net 

Do. Do. 8vo „ ,, „ 

Do. Vocal Parts. Per set.... ,, „ ,, 

Do. Tonic Sol-fa Edition .... „ „ „ 

Behold, the days come, saith the Lord. Rev. H. H.Woodward, M. A. „ 




















































ANTHEMvS, &c.—contimied. 21 

Name of Piece. Composer. ». d. 

BelioM, (lod, our Defender (Oompos^d for the Queen's Juh'dee) 

AV. Clark Ainley 

Urightl}- burn the tapers tall (/In Easter J'Jucharislic Carol) 

Jk'rtram J^uard Sell)}' 

Come unto mo. Unison Rowland Uiiant „ 

Fear not, O land ! For Harvest Thanksgivin<^ . . . . S. C. Cooko ,, 

Glory to (iod in the Highest. For Christmas IS. C. Cooke, mt 

Hark ! Hear ye not ? Christmas Carol. ( Words by 

William Austin) F. AV. Dtivenport 

Hear ray prayer. Unison Rowland Briant, net 

HosaJina ! Full Anthem. (Words by James Cargill (Juthiie) 

Dr. AN'illiam Spaik ,, 

If ye love me. Anthem for general use Harry Dancey ,, 

In the beginning was the word. Soli and Chorus . .J. H. Fray „ 
It is a good thnig to give thanks unto the 

Lord. Voices in Unison Frederick Mcnk ,, 

I will arise Arthur Blisfctt ,, 

I will lift up mine eyes (Psalm CXXI. 1 — 5) W. H. Higgins 

Lord, we know not. For AVhitsuntide S. C. Cooke net 

Lord, thou hast been our refuge Geo. Raylcigh Vicars ,, 

Of Thy love some gracious token. Full Anthem (words 

by the Rev, Thos. Kelly) Hugh Swauton „ 4 

Lord, rebuke me not in thine indignation. 

For Lent George Raylcigh Vicars, B A., Cantab. ,,0 3 

U pray for the peace of Jerusalem Gerard F. Cobb ,, 6 

tarry thou the Lord's leisure A. E. Wilson 3 

I'raise ye the Lord. Unison Rowland Briant ,,0 3 

Ring out, sweet bells [Ch-istmas Carol) 

D. W. J. Vrestbrook, Mus. Doc, Cantab. 1^ 
Stand up and l)lcss the Lord (Xehemiah ix..verses5, 6) George J. Halford 3 

The Earth is the Lord's .' Fred C. Maker 3 

The Lord is my Sheplierd. 23rd Psalm. Anthem . .A. Blissett „ 1 
The Morning of Christ's Xativitj-. Words by John 

Milton ' Ronald J. Thorp Waldie „ 1 

The rain cometh dow^l. For Harvest (the words selected 

by the Rev. Arthur Brook, M.A.) Arthur Trickett, F.C.O. „ 

The Spirit of the Lord L. Samson „ 

This Day is Born. Christmas Anthem (written by William Austin) 

G. A. Afacfarren 

Thou God, art praised in Zion [for Harvest) Fred C. Maker 

Though your sins be as scarlet. Unisni Rowland Briant „ 

They have taken away the Lord. (For Easter) Walter Mitchell „ 
Thou visitest the earth and blessest it. Psalm Ixv., 

verses 9-14. (Harvest Thanksgiving) Arthur Sirams, M.B.O. „ 
With wondering awe. (Words by F. E. Vreatherley) C. Wells Ingram 
Why seek ye the living (for Easter Anthem) 8. C. Cooke 3 









22 ORATORIOS, CANTATAS, &c.— continued. 


" The Performing Edition "' 


The Pianoforte accompaniment arrang-ed and the whole Edited, 

with Historical and Analytical Preface, bv 


Paper covers, 2s. J'aper boards, 2s. 6d. Cloth extra, -!s. Words, Gd 

" The Performing Edition " 

The Pianoforte accompaniment arranged, and the whole Edited, 

with Historical and Analytical Preface, by 


Paper covers, 2s. Paper boards, 2s. 6d. Cloth extra, *s. Words, 6d. 

Sacred Cantata, 

Paper covers, 2s. Words, 15s. per 100. 


Paper covers, 3s. Cloth, extra, 4s. Words, 6d. 


Dramatic Cantata for Ladies' Voices. 

Written and Composed by EGBERT MACHARDY. 

Paper covers, 2s. Cloth extra, 3s. 6d. Words, 6d. 


Paper covers, 8s. Cloth extra, 3s. 6d. Words, 6d. 

THE MAID OF ASTOLAT. Written by Desmond L. Ryan. 

Composed by Dr. C. SWINNERTON HEAP. 

Paper covers, 4s. Paper boards, 5s. Scarlet cloth, Os. Woixls, 6d. 

GODDESS OF POVERTY. Words adapted from the French of 
Geoeges Sand. Composed by Arthur C. Haden. 4s. 


130th Psalm. 
For Tenor Solo, Quart ett and Chorus, by JOHN WEST. Is. fid. net. 

Sacred Cantata, 
BRAZEN SERPENT. Words by Rev. J. Powell Mrtcalf. Com- 
posed l)y Dr. John Naxloi?. 2s. net. 

A SONG OF JUBILEE. For Chorus and Small Orchestra with 
Organ. Written by John Hoby. Composed by Charles Hoby. 
Is. net. 

ORATORIOS, CANTATAS, &c.— continued. 23 




Paper covers, 28. Cloth, 3.s. Words, 3d. 


" The Woodland Witch (Dramatic Cantata i, by I'ulii-it MacHarily. Mr. MacHardy's setting of 
the te.xt is melodious, vocal, and musician-like in its treatmt nt tliioiighout. We may especially 
commend the soprano so]o, ' Loyal Love ' ; ' The Appeal ' (an cxpre.'sivo bass solo), and a simple 
Andante, ' The Allegory,' concluding with a brief chorus. It is announced that the orchestral 
parts are published ; and, by the frequent indications of the instruments for which passages are 
written, we can imagine that the orchestration forms an importfint portion of the composition. 
The pianoforte arrangement, howeier, is good, aud fairly under the hands of a moderately 
advanced performei'." — JIusical Times. 

"The members of the Peebles Clioral Union gave a performance, in character, of Mr. Robert 
MacHardy's, dramatic cantata, The Woodland Witch, in the Chambers Institution, on Tuesday 
evening, to a very large and highly appreciative audience. The I'etb.'cs Amateur Dramatic 
Club lent their scenery and stage fittings for the occasion, and these were put up in a very 
tasteful manner by Mr. Henry Kerr, junior, and proved a considerable attraction. When the 
curtain rose, a gay scene was disclosed to the view of the audience, the members of the Union, 
numbering between twenty and thirty voices, being seen occupying the platform, with the bride 
and bridegroom in front, and all wearing marriage favours, illss M. Williamson appeai-ed as 
Ella the bride ; Mr. Ewing as Harold the bridegroom ; Miss ^M. Watson as Elsie, a reputed 
witch; and Mr. Green as the aged and venerable pastor. Each of these ladies and gentlemen 
sustained their several parts to perfection, and were rewarded, as they well deserved, with 
repeated rounds of applause. The choruses were all exceedingly well executed, and gave good 
evidence of the care bestowed in their preparation. So highly gratified were the audience with 
the manner in which the piece had been performed, that when the curtain fell at the close, the 
artists were recalled, and had to repeat the bridal march chorus with which the cantata concludes, 
and this was followed by loud and prolonged app'ause. The whole entertainment was much 
enjoyed, and Mr. ]\IacHardy and the members of the Choral Union may well be congratulated on 
their appearance on Tuesday evening, which, in every respect, may snfely be characterized as 
the most successful that has ever been -made since the society was established. The performance 
of The Woodland Witch was a great success in itself, and was gone through without a sino-le 
hitch of any kind occurring, while it was evident that it was very highly enjoyed aud appreciated 
by the audience." — Peebles-shire Advertiser. 

"Peebles Choral Society. — The members of this flourishhig society gave their annual 
concert on Tuesday evening. There was a large and fashionable audience. Mr. Robert 
MacHardy conducted. The first part of the programme consisted of the performance of Mr. 
JlacHardy's dramatic cantata. The Woodland Witch. The solos were sung by members of the 
society, and were well received ; while the choruses were rendered with fine effect, the time and 
tune being excellent. The whole performance reflected great credit alike on the conductor and 
the members of the society, and at the close there were loud calls for Mr. MacHardy." — Daili/ 

"Peebles Chohal Uniox. — The members of this society gave a performance of Jlr. R. 
MacHardy's cantata. The Woodlohd Witch, in the Keenation Hall of the Hydropathic Establish- 
ment, on Wednesday evening. The magnificent hall was well tilled by a gay assemblv, about 
one-third of whom were from the town. The curtain rose on the wedding scene at half-past 
eight o'clock. The choiuses were given with great spirit and effect. The principal characters 
were taken by the same ladies aid gentlemen as at Peebles, who may be said to have excelled 
their former performance ; and, being mere at home in their parts, they acted as if to the life." 
— Peebles-shire A dvertistr. 

'■Mr. Robert MacHardy, an Edinburgh composer, has just given to the world a dramatic 
cantata, entitled The Woodland Witch, by which Lis reputation is likely to be increased. The 
words of the cantata are admirably adapted for musical treatment." — The Peoph''s Journal. 

24 TUTOliS, &c. 


s. d. 





A Progi-esssivc, easy and improved method for the Pianoforte 

Uobert MacHardy 

Indispensable Pedal Exercise for the Organ Dr. W. Spark 

I'rogressive Sight Singing, for the use of Singing Classes, Choir- 
masters, &c llobert MacHardy net 

Do. do. in Tonic Sol-Pa ■ • „ 

* Teaches to read Music at sij^ht in a few lessons. 
An easy systematic course of instruction for teaching to read Music at sight in a few lessons. A 
larire reduction for quantities. 
"Exceediu'rly clever and valuaUle work." — Graphic. 
"Its explanations are clear as a sunbeam."— O/d/tam Chronicle. 

Vocal Exercises, in Four Books, each containing 6 Solfeggi for 

Contralto or Basso Ed. Rubini 6 

Complete, 21s. 

The Choir-Boy's Manual Sinclair Dunn 2 

(for raj)idh/ acquiring Sight- Singing) 

The Music Class, or Sight Singer Sinclair Dunn 1 

Scales and Arpeggios for the Pianoforte, as required at all Local 
Examinations by the Iloyal Academy, Trinity College, etc., etc. 

Book I. Por Junior Candidates W. It. Wright 3 

„ 11. For Senior „ „ 5 



Name of Piece. Composer, 

Nos. 1 and 2. Andante and Rondino for four 

violins, with pianoforte accompaniment Alfred Burnett 6 

!No. 3. Largo and Presto Assai for violin, with 

pianoforte accompaniment Ciovanni Bononcini 3 

No. 4. Entr'acte from "La Eille du ]legiment " 

for violin, with pianoforte accoinj)animent Donizetti 3 

No. 5. llomance for violin, with pianoforte accom- 
paniment U. B. Addison 3 

Nos. 6 and 7. Trio for three violins, with pianoforte 

accompaniment Geminiani 

Nos. 8 and 9. Bolero for violin, with pianoforte 

accompaniment J. E. German 6 

No, 10. Adagio and Fugue, with pianoforte accom- 
paniment Archangelo Corelli 3 

No. 1 1. Duo for two violins, with pianoforte 

accompaniment II. Schumann 3 

No. 12. Barcarolle, with pianoforte accompaniment ..F. H. Simms 3 


8. d, 

iN'os. 13 and 14. Andante and Hondo for violin, witli 

pianoforte accompaniment J. 15. Viotti G 

Xo. 15. An Idyll for violin, with pianoforte 

accompaniment Laura AY. Taylor 3 

Xo. 16. Three Movements for four violins Spohr 3 

Xo. 17. Grave e Gis^ua, from third sonata Gasparini ,3 

To he continued Montlihj. 


Name of Piece. Compoacr. x. d. 

Concordia March. Pianoforte, also for Organ Tlieo. Bonheur 4 

Conservative March Alice Hearn 4 

Eastern Belle {Illustrated) F. Kessler 4 

Festival March George W. Baker 4 

Grande Marche Sacroe Leonard Gautier 4 

Grotesque, " a la pantomime " Orbel Hinchliff 4 

In Memoriam Austin T. Turner 3 

March "William Crawford 4 

March in C Thomas H. Jarvis 3 

Marche Cremonese {for Three Violins in the first position, 

li'ith Pianoforte Accomjicmiment) J. Charles J. Hohj- 6 

Marche des Pelerins CD. Lloyd 4 

March in A minor ,....., Ernest W. Laycock 4 

March of !Mars Abraham Duggan 4 

Marlborough March F. R Venua 4 

Xewtown Nursery March J. H. Lewis 4 

Processional E. H. Sligg 4 

The Black Prince {2IarcJi of the Cavaliers) W. F. Taylor 4 

The British Arm}- {Dedicated, hy special permission, to II.R.H. 

the Biike of Cambridge) {Beautifully Illustrated). Charles Deacon 4 

The Cathedral March Thco. Bonheur 4 

The Gordon March , . Basil Cobbett 4 

The Khartoum Geo. F. HowcUs 4 

The March of Friendship AY. B. Graham 4 

The March of the Nations {Beautifully Illustrated) .... Georg Asch 4 
(Performed with great success by all the Military Bands in the Kingdom.) 

The Warrior's March Arthur Moody 4 

Wedding March John Greig 3 

Wimbledon Camp {Dedicated, hy permission, to Col. 

Sir Henry Wilmot, Bart., M.P., C.B., V.C.) Adolphe Schonheyde 4 
Yalour and Faith {Grand 2IarcJi\ Also for Organ, price 4s. 

John W. Gritton 3 
Yictory or Death {Robert Volhnann's March of the Hern) 

arr. by Wilhelm Czerny 1 6 



By Popular Composers. 


Andante from Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata (Violin and Piano) 

Transcribed for tae Pianoforte by C. A. Caspar 3 

Andante (from the Sonata in D minor) Henry G. Trembath 3 

Andante Rondo Giojoso Frederic Scarsbrook 4 

AUemande, Minuetto, and Gigue {after the style of 

the old Masters) Arthur H. Brown 4 

Album Leaf (a merry moment) Theo. Ward 3 

Alice. {Morceau de Salon) Thomas Scarsbrook 3 

Amitie. Esquisse Leonard Gautier 4 

A ray of sunshine Carl Lc Due 3 (> 

A Summer Day Dream Tobias A. Matthay 3 G 

As pants the hart (Spohr) Transcription R. Andrews 4 

Audrey. Dance of ye olden time Hugh Clendon 4 

Ballet Music (Third Set of Dances) Erskine Allon, net 2 G 

Ballet Music (Fourth Set of Dances) Erskine Allon, net 2 

Blumenlied Gustave Lange 3 

Boccherini's Celebrated Menuet, transcribed for piano by 

Wilhelm Czerny 3 

Bolero H. A. J. Campbell 4 

Bourree J. S. Anderson 3 

Bourree in G Louis Balfour Mallett 3 

Bourree in G A. L'Estrange 3 

Bourree Yinccnt Sykes 3 

Chanson d' Autrefois Ad. David 5 

Chant. Melancolique " E. M. Woolley 4 

Charlie is my Darling (Scotch Air) G. Stanhope 4 

Chromatique. Polka de Salon L. Warner 4 

Concert Overture in E minor. Written expressly for the Leeds 

Triennial Musical Festival, 1886 F. Kelvington Hattersley 5 

Curiosity. Esquisse Leonard Gautier 4 

Danse Antique Jacques Greebe 4 

Danse Espagnole G. F. Vincent 4 

Danse Hongroise G. J. Rubini 4 

Danse. Impromptu E. J. Sturgess 3 

Danse Ori)hique Theo. Bonheur 4 

Danse Pittoresque P. G. Mocatta 4 

Danse Yillageoise Alois Volkmer 4 

Duet in D DiabeUi 5 

Duet in D minor for two pianofortes H. F. B. Ileynardson 7 6 

Edelweiss. Idylle Gustave Lange 3 

Elaine. Valse de Concert H. G. Trembath 4 

NEW PIANOFOUTE PIECES— continued!. 27 

5. d. 

Electric .Sparks, Impromptu for Pianoforte Ferdinand Pracger 4 

El Dorado. Grande Valse de Concert P. Von Tugginer 5 

Eventide James L. Summers 4 

Extase. Fantasia llichard IJickard 3 <» 

Falstatf, Bourree H. Dancey 4 

Feuille d'Album Ferdinand Pracger 4 

First Set of Dances Erskine AUon 4 

Forsake me not (Spohr) Transcription 11. Andrews 4 

Four Sketches F. Norman Adams : 

No. 1. Morn 4 

„ 2. Noon 4 

„ 3. Even 4 

„ 4. Night 4 

Glovr Worm, The. Nocturne Louis Warner 3 

Good-bye {Transcription) Benjamin Barrow 3 

Grand Valse de Salon Jose J. de Veintemilla 4 

Herzeleid. Melody Gustave Lange 4 

Home, sweet home S. Thalberg 4 

Hommage a Chopin Tobias A. Matthay 4 

Impromptu Stretton Swann 4 

Impromptu A. Hemstock 3 

In my Cottage near a Wood M. Hoist 3 

In Spring Time (complete) Tobias A. Mathay 5 O 

„ In Parts. No. 1 2 6 

"2 9 (\ 

55 5) 55 -- -^ O 

55 55 55 ^ — ' "' 

In the Garb of Old Gaul (General Eeid's March) and AVha'll 

be King but Charlie, arranged for Pianoforte by . . . . H. Mcintosh 3 

Irish Sketches. The Rose Tree R. F. Harvey 3 

„ Eveleen's Bower „ 3 (► 

„ Kitty Tyrrell „ 3 (> 

„ The Young May Moon ,, 3 

„ Erin Go Bragh (with variations) .... „ 30 

La Bergere. Danse Rustique Warwick Williams 4 

La Chatelaine. Fantasia a la Valse Alphonse Le Due 3 

La Rose Blanche. Morceau de Salon AVilliam Smallwood 4 

La Sortie William Smallwood 3 

La Sympathie. Valse sentimentale 0. Comettant 3 

Landler, Rustic Danses Max Schroter 4 

Le Mousquetaire. Esquisse Placide Malva 4 

Le Perce Foret (The Bushranger). Esquisse Placide Malva 4 

Les Clochettes. Galop caracteristique Aug. Buhl 4 

Les Pas Vifs. Bagatelle John Clark 4 

L'Helianthe. Morceaux Alois Volkmer 4 


s. d. 

L'Hiroijclelle [Melodie pour chant et Piano) F. W. Davenport 4 

Love's Regret. Romance W. R. Nicholson 4 

Maiblume (May flowers) Theodore Oesten 3 

Marguerite. Melodie P. Von Tugginer 4 

Melody in F A. Rubenstein 3 

Menuet Caprice for Pianoforte. Op. 1, No. 2 W. H. Bentley 4 

Menuet (Celebrated Boccherini) arr. by Wilhelm Czerny 3 

Minuet C. Wells Ingrain 4 

Minuet Fantastique Percy Pitt 4 

Minuet and Trio William Wolstenholme 4 

Morceau Brillante Frederick Jackson 4 

Oberon, Valse Brillante for the pianoforte Dr. W. Spark 4 

Ocean Spray, Morceau de Salon A D. Keate 4 

Ophelie. Caprice P. Von Tugginer 4 

Over the Border (Fantasia fur Piano, introducing March, March, 
Ettrick and Teviotdale, The Hills of Glenoi'chy, and The Athole 

Highlanders March by H. Mcintosh 4 

Perle du Matin [Morceau de Salon) F. Scarsbrook 3 

Phantasie Scenes Hamilton Robinson 5 

Prelude and Fugue for the pianoforte Mary Buchanan 3 

Pretty Trifles {Beautifullii Illustrated) (a series of easy pieces for the 
pianoforte) by S. Claude Ridley. 

No. 1. Katie's birthday song 1 6 

„ 2. Celia's Gavotte 1 6 

„ 3. Cissy's Waltz 1 6 

,, 4. Reginald's March 1 6 

,, 5. Nellie's Schottische 1 6 

„ 6. Blanche's Polka 1 6 

„ 7. Our " Betsy Jane " 1 6 

„ 8. Charlie's Holiday 1 6 

,, 9. Annie's Mazurka 1 6 

„ 10. Willie's Tarantelle 1 6 

,, 11. Eddie's Galopade 1 6 

„12. Edith's W^edding 1 6 

Punchinello (Danse des Follies) Celian Kottaun 4 

Remembrance C. R. Fisher 3 

Rondo Impromptu in C minor Frederic Scarsbrook 4 

Rustling leaves (Blatterrauschen). Op. 294 Gustave Lange 3 

Sancta Felice Sonata Robert MacHardy 5 

Saucy Jane Quick Step W. F. Taylor 3 

Scherzo Aime' Maurel 5 

Scherzo in C major Fred. Scarsbrook 4 

Sea Flowers. Morceau caractdristique. Op. 296. .. .Gustave Lange 4 

Second Set of Dances Erskine AUon 4 

Seventeen Variations on an Original Theme in C . . Tobias A. Matthay 4 

Silvery Waves A. P. Wvman 4 

Sketch in E H. G. Trcmbath 3 

NEW PIANOEOTITE mECE^— continued. 29 

8. d. 

Sketches in Dance llliythms by Erskine Allon nH 2 

No. 1. Waltz. 
„ 2. Minuet. 
,, 3. Tarantella. 

Do. Second Series net 2 

No. 1. Polonaise. 
„ 2. Valse Lente. 
„ 3. Bourree. 
„ 4. Saltarello. 

Sonata in C major. Op. 11 Erskine Allon, net 2 6 

Summer Idylls. Nine Characteristic Pieces. (Dedi- 
cated to Ernst Pauer), by Earley Newman Complete 10 6 

No. 1. To the Skylark , 2 6 

„ 2. Hedge Elowers 2 6 

,, 3. A Midsummer Morning 2 6 

„ 4. Wood-Dreams 2 6 

„ 7. ) The First Parting \ 

„ 8. / Cradle Song J^ ^ 

„ 5. I In the Churchyard ) 

„ 6. I Aubade /- ^ 

„ 9. Nocturne 2 6 

The Months. Twelve Sketches for Piano Solo. Op. 8. 

Book I. Jan., Feb., March, April, May, June. Erskine Allon, ne^ 2 6 
Book II. July, Aug., Sept., Oct., Nov., Dec. Op. 8. net 2 6 

" Although these exquisite httle fragments take tlie somewhat reprehensible form of 'tone- 
painting,' the melodies are so pure .and successfully worked out that they merit a place amongst 
the best of descriptive compositions. In No. 1, 'To the Skylark,' the trill of the bird in the 
distant skies is most happily illustrated. The melody of No. 2 , ' Hedge Flowers,' is scarcely 
fresh enough to carry out the idea, we think, and is the only approach to a failure noticeable in 
these pieces. All the sketches, of which there are nine, contain points of salient interest but 
No. 8, the Cradle Song, possesses special attractiveness of melody and setting. Taken as a 
whole, these 'Midsummer Idylls' are a very welcome addition to pianoforte literature." — Orchestra. 

" A series of nine characteristic pianoforte pieces, with distinct fancy titles. The composer 
has much grace, and a great deal of art. Some of the pieces are charming little pictures ; others 
display ingenious devices in pianisms. Nos. 2, 4, 6, 8, and '.) are especially charming ; but all the 
pieces are highly interesting and artistic." — Musical Standard. 

" To the Ski/lark, Hedge Flojoers, A Midsummer Morning, Wood Breams, Aubade; with these 
and kindred themes the composer deals in a happy fashion. Mr. Newmax has fine feelino- and 
considerable delicacy of expression. These are essential qualifications for music of the class before 
us, and they make the result in the present case attractive. Amateur pianists should by no means 
overlook ' Midsummer Idylls.' '' — Lute. 

" Nine charming compositions, which deserve to be learnt by heart." — Graphic. 

" All these pieces are very plea^jing ; not difficult ; and owing to then: originality, far above the 
average of present pianoforte music." — Ladies' Pictorial. 

'- In this Mr. Fakley Newjian deserves recognition for a veiy clever work ; it can be safeh' 
depended upon as a most attractive addition to any musical reperlolre." — Public Opinion. 

" Your very charming, melodious, and thoroughly well-written pieces, which illustrate so suc- 
cessfully the poetical mottoes prefixed, are, from their moderate difficulty, certain to win a larce 
circle of friends and admirers. I hope to be able to contribute towards their becomino' well- 
known, as they deserve to be.'' — Ernest Pauer. 

" I have played them over with the greatest interest and pleasure, and found thoughts full of 
fancy and beauty on every page. I sincerely hope that your compositions will soon get as widely 
known as they deseive to be," — Berthold Tours. 

30 NEW PIANOFOliTE TIECE^>— continued. 

" You have certainly succeeded in producing a set of pieces of a decidedly original character : 
a very difficult task in these days, when so much has been said in music, and when unconscious 
imitation of one's favourite composers seems ahnost inevitable." — Si/dw;/ Smith. 

" I have had much pleasure in playing your pieces. Really good works are, unfortunately, so 
very scarce, that one values one the more when one meets it. There being so many together in 
one volume is against a good sale, but even as it is, those who get them must be pleased with 
them."— JF. A'«/(e. 

" Most interesting and charming ; indeed, I have not been so much pleased with anything new 
for many a day. I sincerely hope that the work will pay in its present form, but feel persuaded 
that there would not be a shadow of a doubt about it if the pieces were published separately."-- 
W. Smallwood. 

" I consider these pieces very well written and musicianly throughout, and well worthy of 
being given to the pubhc, who would. I believe, jippreciate them." — F. II. Cowen. 

"I have played them with much interest, and fully endorse what Herr Paukr has said about 
them. They are not only thoughtfully composed, but very elegant works, which should have a 
success which, in your modesty, you do not anticipate for them. " — Lindsay Sloper. 

•' Refreshing, melodious and natural, and showing much artistic thought. I shall hope some 
day to know the author." — E. II, Turpin. 

" The most cursory inspection shows them to be the work of a musician, and not of a trifler.'" 
— Ebenezer Proid. 

" I can truthfully say that the music has interested me greatly. There is, in my opinion, 
much freshness in the themes, and I hope, ere long, to have the pleasure of reading some larger 
works from the same pen.'' — Dr. Francis E. Gladstone. 

" Most charming pieces, which will, I trust, prove as much a pecuniary as a musical success.'' 
— Dr. Spark (Leeds). 

" Very thoughtful and beautiful. I have derived much pleasure from playing them over." — 
Dr. Chipp (Ely). 

" I have played them with much pleasure. They are very melodious and well written, and 
when they become known, will doubtless replace much of the trash still taught in schools. I 
wish them every success. — Dk, Gordon Saunders {,ProJ. and Exam. T.C.L., fj'c). 

Tarantella J. T Linekar 

Tarantella II. Briant 

Three Sketches Hamilton Robinson 

The Flowers of the Forest, arranged for the Pianoforte by Carlo Zotti 

The Forest Dance Beatrice Leonard 

The Guitar J. E. German 

The Nile Expedition. A ^lusical Panorama (Beautifully 

Illustrated) .'W. F. Taylor 

The Rising of the Black Prince R. Beyer 

The Knight Templar, Bourrce W. F. Taylor 

The Mountain Streamlet. Fantasia for the pianoforte. Edith Pratt 

The Tempest. Brillante Fantasia F. Scarsbrook 

The Transformation. Fantasie on Popular Airs Alfred Lee 

Titania. Danse de Ballet Caroline Lowthian 

Toccata David Wilson 

Touch not the Nettle and Old Scotland's Lament, transcribed for the 

Pianoforte by H. Mcintosh 

Transformation Medley, The A. Lee 

Twenty Variations on an old English air Pirscher 

Twilight Musings Ed. Senior 

Two Album Leaves T. Mee Pattison 

Two Minstrels' Songs. | ^^' ^ j" j^ ^^J^^ j A. Ergmann 4 

Two Sketches | }; ^^^^{^^„ \ S. Emily Oldham 4 






























s. «/. 

Two riecos Charles U. Fisher: 

No. 1, Morning Greeting 4 

„ 2. An Evening 8ong 4 

Ungarisches Keiterstuck (The Hungarian Horseman) . . Carl Gressler 4 (> 

Unrest. Impromptu H. G. Trembath 4 

Varieties {a Serii'S of SJiort Pieces) Felix Eaker 

No. 1. Divertissement Se'rieux 2 

,, 2. The Oarsman's Waltz 2 

,, 3. Six Variations on an Original Air 3 

Victory or Death (by Robert Volkmann) . . arr. by "NVilhelm Czerny 1 6 

Viola. Intermezzo J. G. Veaco 4 

Violetta. Valse de Sedan W. Jos. Bailey 4 

Vive le Soldat. Galop Militaire Gustave Lange 4 

Voices of the Sea. Suite for Pianoforte. Book I. Gerard F. Cobb net 2 6 

„ ,, „ „ 5^ook II. ,, „ „ 2 6 
White Heather. Valse de Salon for Pianoforte. Op. 1, No. 1 

W. H. Bentley 4 
Ye Banks and Braes (ivith variations). Now Edition, revised 

and fingered WiUiam West 4 


Adagio and Fugue, with pianoforte accompani- 
ment Archangel© Corelli 3 

Andante and Rondino for four violins, with pianoforte 

accompaniment Alfred Burnett 6 

Andante and Hondo, for violin, with pianoforte accompaniment 

J. B. Viotti 
An Idyll for the violin, with pianoforte accompaniment Laura "W.Taylor 

Barcarolle, with pianoforte accompaniment F. H. Simms 

Barcarolle (Here in my Bounding Boat, with Violin or Violoncello 

ohblir/ato, ad lib.) words hy Sigma Charles Hoby 

Bolero for violin, with pianoforte accompaniment . . . . J. E. German 
Cavatina, with Pianoforte Accompaniment . . . . F. Gilbert Webb, net 
Duo for two violins, with pianoforte acompaniment . . It. Schumann 
Entr'acte from " La Fille du Regiment "' for violin, 

with pianoforte accompaniment Donizetti 3 

Fifty Popular National Tunes for violin 

Selected, bowed, and fingered by Edward Gray net 1 
Four Sketches (The Violin Part in the first position) Charles Hoby, eacJi 3 o 







No. 1. Adieu. 
„ 2. Minuet. 

No. 3. Song without words 
„ 4. Gavotte. 

Intermezzo, for strings, 2 flutes, oboe, tympani Alfred Burnett 4 


Largo and Presto Assai for violin, with pianoforte 

accompaniment, arranged expressly for young per- s. d. 

formers Giovanni Bononcini 3 

Old English Melodies, with pianoforte accompaniment 

J. E. Mallandaiiie, each 3 
No. 1. Bailiff's Daughter of Islington. 

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen. 
No. 2. Where the bee sucks. 

Once I loved a maiden fair. 

3. Cherry ripe. 

The Lass of Richmond Hill. 

4. TVapping Old Stairs. 
Jolly young Waterman. 

5. The bloom is on the rye. 
The Vicar of Bray. 

6. The Friar of Orders Grey. 
Black-ey'd Susan. 

The Leather Bottel. 

Pizzicato Piece. (The Guitar.) Orchestral for Quintet. .J". E. German 3 
Quartet in C, for Two Violins, Tenor, and Violoncello . .Geo. A. Ames 10 

Do. Score 10 

Romance for violin, with pianoforte accompaniment . . R. B. Addison 3 
Six Morceaux de Salon, pour violin ou violoncello, avec accom- 

paghement de piano : Alfred Burnett, each No. 3 

No. 1. Reverie No. 4. Nocturne 

2. Cavatina 5. Berceuse 

3. Barcarolle 6. Valse 

Three Movements for four violins . . , Spohr 3 

Trio for three violins, with pianoforte accompaniment .... Geminiani 6 



ALFRED BURNETT, each Book 3s. 
For Violin, with Pianoforte Accompaniment. 

Book I. 
„ II- 

J Largo. 

\ March, 

J Menuetto. 

I Gavotte, 

y-j-y \ Sarabanda. 

(^ Menuetto. 

Book IV. 
» VL I 









s. d. 

Air de Ballet P. de Soyres 4 

Adagio and Fugue, with pianoforte accompani- 
ment Archangelo Corelli 3 

Andante and Rondino for four violins, with pianoforte 

accompaniment Alfred Burnett 6 

Andante and Hondo for violin, with ])ianofovte accompaniment 

J. B. Viotti 
An Idyll for violin, with pianoforte accompaniment. Laura W. Taylor 

Ariette W. Hannaford, Jun. 

Barcarolle for violin, witli pianoforte accompaniment. . . .F. H. Simms 

Bellini's La Straniera L. Jansa 

Bolero for violin, with pianoforte accompaniment .... J. E. German 
Duo for two violins, with pianoforte accompaniment . . II. Schumann 
Easy and Brilliant Fantasia (on English Melodies) . . Edgar Haddock 
Entr'acte from " La Fille du Regiment " for violin, 

with pianoforte accompaniment Donizetti 

II Largo. Romance H. G. Trembath 

Invitation to the Dance, with violm ad lib H. F. Henniker 

La Follette (Morcea,u Caracteristique pour Yiolou ou I lute on 

Violoncelle) avee accomp. di Piano Heinrich Stiehl 4 

Largo and Presto Assai for violin, with pianoforte 

accompaniment Giovanni Bononcini 3 

Marche Cremonese, for three violins in the first position, 

with pianoforte accompaniment. , J. Charles J. Hoby 6 

(A Bass part may be had Is. nd) 

Musical Record, October, ISSi). — "This is a piece of music so simple that the veriest 
tyros could play it almost at first si^ht. Each of the parts for the violins is of the 
most rudimentary character, and is arranged to be played in the tirst postiion. The 
union of sound of the three instruments with the pianoforte accompaniment is 
effective, and not unpleasing." 

Graphic, October ind, 18S6.—" ' Marche Cremonese' for three violins, in the first 
position, with pianoforte accompaniment, composed by J. Charles Hoby, sounds 
more imposing than it really is, as there are no great ililHcultics to overcome, ai.d 
when well played, a good ellVct may be produced. A violoncello and bass part may 
be procured, which certainly adds to the ensemble." 

Melody for violin or violoncello Alan Gray, net 

Regret. 8olo, with Pianoforte Accompaniment W. Ding 

Reverie for violin or violoncello, with pianoforte accompaniment 

F, Norman Adams 

Reverie C. Wells Ingram 

Romance E. A. Sydenham 

Romance C. Wells Iiigram 

Romance for violin, with pianoforte accompaniment. . R. B. Addison 




















s. d. 
Six Morceaiix de Salon, poui* violon o\\ violoncello (avec accom- 

pagnement de piano) Alfred Bui'nett, each No. 3 

No. 1. Reverie No. 4. Nocturne 

2. Cavatina 5. Berceuse 

3. Barcarolle 6. Valse 

Six Transcriptions for Violin, with Pianoforte accompaniment 

Edgar Haddock 

No. 1. March Funebre Chopin 

„ 2. Theme Mendelssohn 

,, 3. Three little pieces Schvimann 

„ 4. March Handel 

,, 5. Aria Giordani 

„ 6. Fantasia E Haddock 

Trio for three violuis, with pianoforte accompaniment .... Geminiani 

Two Pieces for Violin and Pianoforte Marie Mildred Ames 

No. 1. Barcarolle net 

,, 2. Song with words „ 

"Weber's Euryanthe L. Jansa 













La Follcte (Morceau Caracteristique) Heinrich Steihl 4 

Melody for violin or violoncello Alan Gray, net 2 

Reverie for violin or violoncello, with pianoforte accompaniment 

F. Norman Adams 4 

Romance with pianoforte accompaniment Frank N. Abernethy 4 

Six Morceaux de Salon, pour violon ou violoncello (avec accom- 

pagnement de piano) Alfred Burnett, each No. 3 

No. 1. Reverie No. 4. Nocturne 

2. Cavatina 5. Berceuse 

3. Barcarolle 6. Valse 

Three Pieces for Violoncello and Pianoforte Philip de Soyres : 

No. 1. Romance 3 

„ 2. Air with Variations 3 

„ 3. Gavotte 3 


Arrangements for the Organ . . IF. J. Westbrool; Mvs. Doc, Cantab. 

Tliis Work has been designed to meet the wants of those Organists who have to play Organs 
moi-e or less incomplete. The whole of the pieces may be played, therefore, upon Organs with 
two keyboards ; many of them, by a little management, upon Organs with only one. The 
pedal is, of course, indispensable. It has been the aim to make all the pieces thoroughly play- 
able, and as easy as was consistent with their due effect. 

ORGAN WU81C— continued. 


Book I. 

Andante in D C. F. Abel 

Fugue in B flat min J. S. Bach 

Fugue in D J. S. Bach 

Busslied in A min L, v. Beethoven 

Book II. 
Concerto No. 8 in G min A. Corelli 

Book III. 

Air in F T. A. Anie 

Fugue in E J. S. Bach 

Larghetto in A J. L. Dussek 

Book IV. 

Larghetto in F J. B. Cramer 

Adagio in B flat J. L. Dussek 

Andante in C J. N. Hummel 

Book V. 

Adagio in B flat L. Kotzeluch 

Psalm 128 in F L. Spohr 

Air in E J. B. Cramer 

Book VI. 
.Sixth Violin Solo A. Corelli 

Book VII. 

Sonata in G L. Kotzeluch 

Largo in G J. Haydn 

Lento in A min R. Schumann 

Book VIII. 

Con spirito in G J. A. Ame 

Fugue in E flat A. Scarlatti 

Adagio in F L. Kotzeluch 

Book IX. 

Fugue in C A. Reicha 

Gondola Song in G L. Spohr 

2 Andante in E min F. Mendelssohn ; 

Book X. 

Sonata in F min A. Corelli 

Fugue in A min G. E. Eberlin 

Adagio in D L. Kotzeluch 

Book XI. 

Adagio in E flat J. Haydn 

Fugue in F G. E. Eberlin 

Book XII. 

Melody in F R. Schumann 

Fugue in D T. Adams 

Fugue in E min G. F. Eberlin 

Adagio in B flat , J. Pleyel 

Book XIII. 
Chorus, Hallelujah (Messiah) G. F. Handel 

Book XIV. 

Air, With verdure clad (Creation) 

Joseph Haydn 
Chorus, The Heavens are telling 

(Creation) Joseph Haydn 


Concerto. First Movement (from the 
original MS . ) Samuel Wesley 


Concerto. Second and Third Move- 
ments (from the original MS.) 

Samuel Wesley 

EacJi Bool; TJiree ShiJUnr/s. 
To be continued. 

1'avoukite Airs for the Organ . . arranged hy Dr. W. J. WesthrooTc. 

Book I. 
Four Shillings. 

8t, Paul. " Jerusalem " F. Mendelssolin-Bartlioldy 

Daniel's Prediction. " For the homes of our fathers " Chas. E. Horn 

Abel, Eve's Hymn — " How cheerful along the gay mead ". .Dr. T. A. Arne 

Messiah. " But thou didst not leave " G. F. Handel 

Messiah. " He shall feed his flock " G. F. Handel 

Messiah. " He was despised " G. F, Handel 

Book II. 
Four Shillings. 

Larghetto. " Ave Maria " L. Cherubini 

Alcina. " Verdi prati, salve amene " 0. F, Handel 

Israel in Egypt. " Thou shalt bring them in '' G. F. Handel 

Last Judgment. " Holy, holy " L, Spohr 

Messiah. Eecit. — "Comfort ye my people " G. F. Handel 

Messiah. Andante, Air — " Every valley shall be exalted ". . . .G. F. Handel 

St. Paul. " But the Lord is mindful " F. Mendelssohn-Bartholdy 

Organ Solo. No. 1. Soeur Monicpe. Rondo by F. Couperin, arrranged 

by James Shaw 3 

36 ORGAN M.V81C— continued. 

Orfginal Compositions for the Organ, founded on Ancient Sarum 
Plain Song Melodies .... CJuis. W. Fearce, Mus. Doc, Cantab. 

These pieces have been written with a view to supply the Church Organist with a coll-iction 
of Preludes and Postludes which will properly anticipate or recall themes which have a Liturgical 
significance and position in the Church Service. Chorals enter largely into the construction of 
GeiTnan organ music of all ages, and the success which has hitherto attended the etforts of 
English composers in writing upon English hymn-tunes will, in all probability, lead to the com- 
position of a rich store of organ music founded on, and growing out of, the unequalled treasury 
of English church music. 

s. d, 
'No. 1. Three Hymn-Studies, on " Creator of the starry height " 
(Advent), "Jesu, the very thought is sweet" (Epiphany), 
" Faithful Cross, above all other " (Passion Tide) .... 4 
„ 2. " Urbs Beata, Hierusalem." Postlude for the Dedication 

of a Church 3 

„ 3. " Ad Coenam Agni providi." Postlude for Easter 3 

„ 4. " Te Lucis ante terminum." Prelude and Fugue for the 

conclusion of Evensong 4 

,, 5. " Corde natus ex Parentis." Symphonic Poem for Christ- 
mas Tide 4 

„ G. Fantasia in A minor and major on Chant Themes by 
Jonathan Battishill, Op. 32, dedicated to Dr. F. E. 

Gladstone 3 

„ 7. The Royal Banners. A Dramatic Fantasia, Op. 33, dedi- 
cated to AA^alter Parratt, Esq., Mus. Bac, Oxon 4 

„ 8. Sonata. E minor Op, 37 6 

( To be continued.) 

Of the above series, the Postlude, ' Urbs Beata, Hierusalem,' has been played by the Author 
with great success at the Crystal Palace and elsewhere, and the following are some of the many 
opinions which have been written of it by eminent organists, &c. : — 

'■ Many thanks for the scholarly and interesting Postlude." — Dr. John Stniner. 

" I like the organ piece greatly, and wish for an opportunity to hear it on the proper instni- 
ment, when the Canto Fermo at the end of the fugue will be properly pronounced." — Sir G. A. 

" I hke the originality of the idea, and anticipate much pleasure in using the piece."— /awes 
Higgs, Esq., Mus. Bac, Oxon. 

*' Many thanks for your Postlude, which I like verjj much. It is very interesting to see how 
much can be evolved from such simple materials." — Charles E. Stephens, Esq. 

" A most enjoyable organ piece upon a theme I love."" — Myles Birket Foster, Esn. 

A Triumphal March in F major Charles Hoby 

Allegretto F. J. Read 

Andante. Alia Pastorale T, E. Spinney 

Andantino in G H. G. Trembath 

Aria Religiosa Jessie R. Jupp 

Choral March D. J. Mackey 

Concert Fugue A. B. Plant 

Concordia March. Also for Piano Theo Bonheur 

Elegy Fred, Monk 










ORGAN MV^lC—continved. 37 

s. >f. 

Hercules (a March) H. G. Trombath 4 

II Largo. Romance H. G. Trembath 4 

Inauguration March ]l. Dunstan '.i (» 

Indispensable Pedal Exercises Dr. W. Spark 4 " 

Iter Latomorum (The 2Iason's Grand March). .William Crawford vet 2 

Larghetto from Schumann's Symphony in B flat . . . ."W. Lyle Biggs 3 
Organ Solos, Xo. 1, Sa3ur Monique, Hondo, by F. Couperin 

Arranged by James Shaw 3 
Pens^es Religieuses. Voluntaries for the American Organ 

Arthur Johnson 4 
Second Sonata for the Organ, in C and A major. Op. 41. 

Charles ^Yilliam Pearce 4 

Three Preludes and Fugues - Charles Steggall 4 

Valour and Faith (Grand March) also for ianoforte, price 3s. 

John ^Y. Gritton 4 



Dr. W. J. ^VESTBROOK, Mus. Doc, Cantab. Each No. 3s. 

No. 1. 

A Christmas March W. J. "Westbrook, Mus. Doc, Cantab 

Pastoral L. Kozeluch 

The First Nowell (Carol) Traditional 

No. 2. 

Duetto (Lieder ohne Worte) Mendelssohn 

Andante (Sonata 1. No. 31) J. B. Cramer 

Benedictus (Mass in E flat, Larghetto) CM. von Weber 

No. 3. 

Air G. A. Hasse 

From Op. 39. Andante P. Scharwenka 

Die Zauberflote. In Dieseu Heil Gen Hallen W. A. Mozart 

String Quartett, No. 1, Op. 33. Andante con Variazioni . . Leopold Kozeluch 

No. 4. 

Air. Salutaris Hostia W. J. Westbrook, IMus. Doc, Cantab 

Adagio J. B. Cramer 

Andante Espressivo J. Woelfl 

No. 5. 

Sonata 48. Adagio Maestoso M. Cleraenti 

Aufer stehing und Himmel fahrt Jusus (Choral Fugue Alles 

was odem Hat) PI-. Emm. Bach 

Jephtha. " Tune the soft, melodious lute " Handel 


No. 6. 

Saul. Chorus of Sheplicrds J. H. E,olle 

Fugue J. G. Albrechtsberger 

Sonata, Op. 67. Adagio J). Steibelt 

The Cantatas. Aria. Era Meglio G. Bononcini 

No. 7. 

Trio, Op. 40. Poco Adagio L. Kozeluch 

Op. 48. Larghetto from the Double Concerto for Two Violins . . .' . L. Spohr 
Orfeo e Euridici. " II Pensier sta negli oggetti " Jos. Haydn 

No. 8. 

Fantasia, Op. 76. Andante Pustico J. L. Dussek. 

Sonata, Op. 38. Andante Joseph Woelfl 

Andante. Espressivo G. Morandi 

To be continued. 


March of the Nations G. Asch 

Septett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 
Feuille d' Amour Polka Ernest Travers 

Septett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 
Karlus Waltz Robert MacHardy 

Septett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 
Orange Blossom Waltz Leonard Remfry 

Sejjtett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 
Sun Shower Waltz George Stakei 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 

Soft Nothings Waltz Leonard Remfry 

Solo violin and 1st & 2nd cornets, 6d. each. 

Spring of Love Waltz Jose^ih Spawforth 

Piano, 4/- ; Septet, 1/- ; Full. Orchestra, 2/- ; Military Band, 3/6 
The INile Expedition. A Musical Panorama W. F. Taylor 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6 
Marion Waltz J. W. Slatter 

Septett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 
The I3ritish Army March C. Deacon 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6. 
Wedding M arch John Greig 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6 

Blondel Gavotte | ^^.^.^^^^ -g^^^^^ ^ ^ ^ j^^ . ,g 

Saucy Jane Uuickstep ) 

Moonlight Polka , Leonard Remfrey 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6. 

Kathleen AValtz Emma St. John 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Baud, 3/6. 
Amaryllis Waltz Charles Speyer 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6 
Louise Waltz J. P. Clarke 

Septett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 



Olive Branch "Waltz George Staker 

Septett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 
Clarine Waltz Kare Kaps 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6. 
Danse Antique J. Greebe 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6. 
Danse Orphique Theo Bonheur 

Septett, 1/-; Full Orchestra, 1/G ; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6. 
Titania Caroline Lowthian 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6; Brass Band, 3/-; Military Band, 3/6, 
Shadowland "Waltz Hugh Clendon 

Septett, 1 - ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6. 
Avant Souper Schottische Folcardet 

Sejitett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6. 
"Windsor Castle Gavotte Volkmer 

Septett, 1/- ; Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6 

Concert Overture Haltersley 

Wind Parts, MS. ; String Parts, 5/-. 
Mine Alone "Waltz Theo Bonheur 

Septett, 1/- : Full Orchestra, 1/6 ; Brass Band, 3/- ; Military Band, 3/6. 

March Militaire G. F. Simms 

Score, 3/- ; Band Parts, 2/- 

The Guitar (Quintett), 3/- J. E. German 

Felicite Polka Folcardet 

Messiah Handel 

The Performing Edition — The bowing and fingering marked by Alfrfd Burnett. 
The Instrumentation slightly amplified and the whole Edited by G. A. Macfarren. 

First Violin, 3/-; Second Violin, 3/-; Viola, 3/-; 'Cello and Bass, 3/- 
"\t\^ind Parts, liS. 

She Oxford Sdition 



Edited and carefully Fingered by Carl Schultz, 


Printed from Ne"wly Engraved Plates in the Best Style. 

Adeste Fideles Tipper 3- 

Air de Chasse, Piano C. Czerny 26 

Air le Roi Louis XIII. ...Henri Ghys 3'- 
Air with Variations in G... Beethoven 3/- 
Andante Cantabile, Op. 51. No. 2 

Beethoven 4/- 

Beatrice di Tenda Beyer 3 - 

Bird Waltz ranormo 2/6 

Blumenlied G. Lange 3/- 

Carneval de Venice Oesten 4/- 

Chant de la Berger Gales 3/- 

Czerny's Exercises for the Pianoforte, 
Books 1 and 2 each 4- 

Deh Conte (The admired air Bellini's 

opera Norma) Burgmiiller 2 6 

Diana, Mazurka Talexy 3/- 

Dreams of Home (Heimweh) 

Albert Jungmann 3/- 

Duet in D ....A. Diabelli 5/- 

Edelweiss G. Lange 3/- 

Ernaui, Grand Fantasia F. Beyer 4/- 

Fairy Wedding, Waltz 

J. W. Turner 3,'- 
Feenrigen Waltz (Fairies' Waltz) 

Reissiger 2/6 
Gipsy Eondo Haydn 3/- 



The Oxford Edition of Standard "Works for the Pianoforte — continued. 

(ioudolied, Gondola Song Oesten 3/- 

Grand March C D. Blake 4/- 

Handel's Harmonious Blacksmith 

C. J. W;itkiuson .3/- 
Heimliche Liebe, Gavotte .. J. Kesch 'A - 

Herzelied G. Lange 3- 

Home, Sweet Home Thalberg 4/- 

H Corricolo, Galop... Durand de Gran 3/- 
lu my Cottage near the wood 

M. Hoist 3 - 
Kelvin Grove, Air with Variations 

J. C. Nightingale 3/- 

La Chatelaine A. Le Due 3- 

La Noce du Village ...Lcfebure Wely 3/- 

La Matinee Eondo Dussek 4/- 

La Priere d'une Vierge 

Thecla Badarzewska 2/6 

L' Argentine «. E. Kettener 4/- 

La Rosee du Soir, Morceau de Salon 

La Sympathie 0. Comettant 3,'- 

Le Desir, Pens^e Eomantique 

Henri Cramer 2/6 
Les Cloches du Monastere 

L6febure Wely 3/- 

Maiblume, Melodie T. Oesten 3,'- 

Mazurka Brillante (Marie) Talexy 3/- 

Melodie in F Rubinstein 3- 

Mermaids' Song (Oberon) ...T. Oesten 3 - 

Mocking Bird Hoifmann 4- 

To he c 

Musidora, Mazurka Talexy 

Norma, Fantasia Beyer 

Overture, " L'ltaliana in Algieri " 


Ray of Sunshine C. Le Due 

Reverie in G, Op. 31...Rosellen Hemi 
Rondeau Villageois, Op. 122 

J. H. Hummel 
Rondo Grazioso, Op. 51. No. 1 •■■: 


Silvery Waves A. P. Wyman 

Sonata in C H. Enkhausen 

Sonata in F Mozart 

Sonata in F Fred. Kuhlau 

Sonata in G, easy Beethoven 

Sonata Op. 49, No. 1, in G minor 

Sonata Op. 49, No. 2, in G 


Stephanie, Gavotte A. Czibulka 

Tarantelle in A flat Heller 

The ]Murmuring Stream (Idyll 

for Piano) Steinberg 

The Wedding March ...Mendelssohn 
F. Spindler 

The Signal March Kleber 

Une Petite Fleur pour Piano..C. Voss 
Violetta, Polka Mazurka... Carl Faust 










PRICE 2s. 

1. The Harp that once 

2. Last Piose of Summer 

3. Minstrel Boy 

4. Meeting of the Waters 

5. Though the last glimpse 

6. Rich and Rare 

7. Let Erin remember 

8. Dear Harp of my Country 

9. ^^'ar Song — Remember the glories of 
Brian the Brave 

10. Oh, Where's the slave so lowly 

11. I saw from the beach 

12. The Song of O'Ruach— The Valley 
lay smiling before me 

To he continued. 



25 Guineas. , , ^ 4_ 

Full Compass, Seven Cctavei^? ''^ -^ 





Los Angeles 
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